


A Stray Cat

by Peach_Pit



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hoarding, M/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Recovered Memories, Self-Worth Issues, Temporary Character Death, Unconditional Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peach_Pit/pseuds/Peach_Pit
Summary: Ten years ago, he lost him.He came back, but he wasn’t quite the same.Or was he?Written for the 2019 IgNoct Big Bang.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: The Ignoct Big Bang 2019





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> [Art by Aceflorins](https://twitter.com/aceflorins)  
> 
> 
> This is for the 2019 IgNoct Big Bang!  
> Big thanks to my editors Shellfyre and Milo, and my artist [Aceflorins](https://twitter.com/aceflorins)!!  
> This is an AU in which the world is not falling to darkness/there's no Prophecy, and things aren't 100% the same as canon, but there are still lots of canon similarities.  
> Please enjoy this most self-indulgent of fics. 

Where better is there to camp in Lucis than the Myrlwood, mysterious forested depths of the Duscae region? _Nowhere—_ or so Gladiolus would tell Noctis when the young prince hesitated on planning his twentieth birthday celebration. Noctis _has_ said that he would much rather keep things humble in the midst of all the politics in which his life was currently embroiled, opting for a simpler, smaller getaway with his closest buddies, but he was not sure that he’d had _camping_ in mind.

“It _does_ fit all your criteria, though,” Prompto notes, slapping Noctis on the shoulder as they both crest the hill of their hiking trail. “It don’t get any _humbler_ than this. Plus, you can finally prove to us whether or not you’re stronger than a mosquito.”

“Well, I’ve already bested _you_ in hand-to-hand, so I think I’ll be fine,” Noctis quips back with a sly half-grin.

Prompto grunts, ducking under a limb as he parts the brush and lets some of it thwack his bestie lightly in the side.

“You walked right into that one,” Gladiolus chuckles, just moments before he meets a spider web with his face. “Ack! Ppbbth! Get it off!”

“Just like you walked into _that_ one?” Prompto smiles.

“It’s fine, Gladio,” Ignis remarks as Gladiolus pulls the last piece of web off of him. “No sign of spiders to be seen.”

“Unless they’ve buried into all that hair,” Noctis says.

“Don’t say things like that!” Gladiolus begins frantically ruffling the back of his hair.

“Who’s the outdoorsman here again?” Noctis says, placing his hands on his hips as he stops and surveys the others. His friends certainly have their work cut out for them out here, but he believes they’ll be fine so long as they remain together.

Such had been their bond.

“This is where we leave the beaten path,” Gladiolus says calmly, almost as if the past minute hadn’t just transpired. “You ready, Your Highness?”

“You’re the one who’d better be ready. For more spiders.”

“Ugh! Let’s just go.”

Down the path they blazed anew, there resides a bank for a small river. To grow as a leader, as well as to conquer the unknown, is to be open to new experiences, and thus is Noctis intending to go kayaking for the first time in his life.

But not _yet_. First, there is the matter of everyone’s favorite pastime: fishing. The others had had their fair share of watching Noctis enjoy himself on other such fishing trips, but now the four of them are out to become competitive, each with their own rods and techniques. The fish caught patiently at morningtime were the most rewarding and made for a delicious spit roast, which Ignis somehow managed to turn gourmet with his emergency spice packs, even out in the middle of the wilderness.

“It’s a good day when you catch a fish bigger than Gladio,” Prompto says, setting the tripod up to take yet another photo of their win in pre-eaten form.

“Let’s just say that I caught it this time,” Noctis suggests, sizing up the spit roast that had to be expanded just for this particular catch. Prompto must have hooked the famed “King of the River” arowana, and it had taken all four of them not to lose their friend to the watery depths. It seems wrong to cook such a legendary creature, but all the same, it empowers them to continue getting through their day.

After their generous meal, Gladiolus leads them further along the riverbank until he came to the spot they’d been seeking. Two kayaks lie docked where the river grew wide and made a swift turn toward the south.

“I’m going to reiterate that this seems dangerous,” Noctis says, scoping out the sun-orange vessel.

“Ya committed to it,” Gladiolus groans. “Ya gonna back out now? Not the princely thing to do, though I guess it is _your_ birthday.”

“I’m not backing out,” Noctis says, a firm look in his eye as he glances up at the tower of a man. “I’m just…stating the obvious.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Ignis says, placing a hand on Noctis’s shoulder, “you’ll at least have someone who knows what they’re doing with you.”

“Love the vote of confidence, Igs,” Prompto says, stepping over to the other kayak. “This’ll be no sweat—quiet trails on easy water.”

“Just don’t expect me to do _all_ the paddling,” says Gladiolus.

“Hey! These guns don’t quit!” Prompto flexes his triceps, Gladiolus nodding in approval.

…

It is as Prompto had said for the first while. The waters are calm all but for the two boats’ disturbance, nature guiding them through a scenic tour of the Myrlwood such as few had ever seen. Prompto sits in front of Gladiolus, both paddling with a technique they had quickly learned to synchronize, Prompto resisting the urge to just stop and pull out his camera every few meters. Ignis, meanwhile, sits before Noctis, and as they row, a strange calm washes over both of them, the stresses of their royal lives forgotten, if only for this moment in time.

What happens as they approached a fork in the stream has no clear rhyme or reason.

It is as if the earth itself had decided to heave several meters into the air, dirt and river and fish all, with a sound too loud to be heard.

As a higher cliffside sinks back into the lower earth, the tumbling mudslide closes off the calmer fork, pushing two now-uncoordinated kayaks down the rushing stream of river to the right. As the four men struggle to right their vessels, the cliffside continues to collapse in behind them, making their struggle to regain control a more desperate battle for survival.

Gladiolus and Prompto quickly fall out of Ignis’s sight as his and Noctis’s vessel flips. Rather than trying to control their orientation, or even their path, Ignis, still deftly hanging onto his oar, seeks to stop their descent on the far bank and hook themselves out of the line of danger. The oar finds purchase against a great old root, momentum dragging them to the side on more solid ground as a wave of debris tore past them.

Ignis yells against the noise of the mudslide while bearing his grip into something more solid. “Noct!”

Noct squeezes himself out of his seat and climbs carefully toward Ignis, holding onto him as more rocks pass. “I’m okay!”

“Let’s go higher!”

Keeping firm hold of each other, they both climb between the tree roots of their shore and up to the cliffside to try to find sight of the others. They get their footing on a large cliff into which an ancient tree is woven. From here, it’s clear why the river rushes as it does: not far ahead is a waterfall, taking the waters out to the greater unknown parts of the Myrlwood’s dark depths.

“Gladio!”

“Prompto!”

There is a moment before any response.

“Guys, I think—I think we’re stuck.” Prompto’s voice, somewhere further upstream.

“No we’re not—this way!” Gladiolus’s voice also sounds distant.

“Meet us upstream!” Ignis calls out, then turns to Noctis. “It would be best if we made our way upstream, carefully. It may yet be unsafe.”

Noctis nods as Gladiolus’s “ _Alright!_ ” sounds from across the river.

Before they can take a second step, another deafening explosion sends a new wave of mud and muck and rocks hurtling towards them, taking off more of the cliffside as it all collides. Ignis grabs Noctis’s arm, Noctis trying to find purchase on Ignis’s own, slick with water and mud, as it threatens to knock him clear across the river, and holds on for dear life.

“Noct! Keep hold—”

“That one really got me—”

Ignis sinks his fingernails into the flesh of Noctis’s arm. The river had suddenly risen ten feet, almost as if a dam had broken, bringing with it all the river’s contents, hurling ever towards a darker and more secluded resting place. Rocks, large branches—all of it flowed their way.

Ignis’s grip weakens, the nails drawing blood as Noctis’s arm slips away, his feet still struggling to stay in place with nothing against which to balance. The mud and the clamminess, the emerging blood and the pull of the rising tide—

Noctis loses his grip.

He looks into Ignis’s eyes, lips mouthing words melting into the cacophony of noise as he slips away, to be taken by the broken tree the river carries downstream.

An inaudible scream escapes Ignis as he tries to follow, swiftly getting stuck on something—a tree branch? A rock? No: Gladiolus and Prompto had thrown their arms around him at the last moment. They hold him as the avalanche of mud runs its course.

⚜

Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum was never found.

That was ten years ago.


	2. Stray

Ignis snaps out of his reverie, standing in his subway car with the usual morning listlessness. He has not missed his stop; it’s coming up soon. It’s almost as if his mind knows how to time these things. Has it counted every clack of the rails, just as he had consciously counted the days since he last saw Noctis? Does it feel the gentle pull of a gradual slowdown as they reach the station, just as he feels the pull of his prince’s presence out there in the world, so far and unknown and yet so alive in his heart?

Every morning is like this.

Every. Morning.

This morning, the tug on his soul pulls tighter as he minds the gap on his way out. As a blur of gray and brown and black and blue suits begin to flood into the royal district, Ignis catches a familiar patch of black heading to the lower platform. Like a cat captivated by a shining light, Ignis finds himself pursuing this indistinct, male, possibly five-foot-nine presence as it heads toward the trains that would lead to the commerce district.

His eyes are ever-searching on his commutes, his travels, his daily goings-on: someone’s head right at chin level. A man with Noctis’s voice. Pale black hair flitting around a corner. It is not that grief drives his eyes to seek, no—he can not grieve for that which he knows to be alive. His nature compels him. His mind will not cease.

Because he _knows_. He _knows_ that Noctis is still out there. Even if everyone else has given up. Even if, someday, by whatever fate, no one is left to believe him.

But as Ignis follows at a distance, the telltale signs aren’t really there. Is that truly Noctis’s stride, with the subtlest limp in his left side? Is that his posture, the way he carries himself so regally yet so casually? But then, Ignis _sees_ it—

There, as the man is about to transfer to another car, he catches the glint of familiar blue, eyes the color of evening and fireworks. Eyes that belong to none other.

Ignis begins shoving through the crowd, the morning rush hour working against him as he struggles to keep up. “Excuse me! Pardon me! Move, if you’d—be so kind—”

As the man enters the car heading southbound away from the Citadel, Ignis manages to press himself in through another entrance, following from afar the traces of the man in all-black who threatens to be swallowed into a crowd of like faces as his eyes point away from him. Ignis makes his pursuit more gentle as he continues to press after the man, stepping over finely-adorned feet and narrowly dodging morning coffees until the crowd thins out toward the back.

He hasn’t noticed Ignis yet, even as the taller man stares for a moment in plain awe. The space between them feels magnetized nonetheless as Ignis’s eyes lie plain against the rightful heir to the throne, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV. No one in this car, this entire subway system, nay, _the whole city,_ must know who this man is, even in business casual, even with the long, slick hair of his late father, graying early at its sides, draped loosely at the corners of his eyes and hanging as he peers down at his phone. The scruff of beard could have betrayed his whole identity if the royal family had been the type to print themselves on money or put out press releases, yet none are the wiser.

He is just a man. His Noctis.

Ignis can hold back no further. He practically jumps in front of Noctis, getting his attention immediately as his space bubble is popped, and he looks up.

“Um…”

The car begins to move, and the lurch presses Noctis into Ignis momentarily before they can right themselves.

A man at chin height. A familiar voice. Dark hair that glows blue-gray beneath fluorescent lights.

This close, Ignis’s eyes trace the length of Noctis’s jaw, much more defined than the last time he saw him. The shape of his eyes, his nose, his lips, however, are dead giveaways. They aren’t just the late Regis’s features; they had become all Noctis’s own, a beauty—to put it plainly—that Ignis could not even have imagined. The corners of Ignis’s lips curl up in an automatic smile as a deep joy wells up in his chest. “Noctis.”

“Uh… Wh… _what_?” Noctis looks very confused and uncomfortable, taking a step back, though he has hardly enough room with the wall of the car behind him.

“Noct, it’s—it’s me. It’s Ignis.” Ignis does not think he’s changed terribly much in ten years, though perhaps Noctis has a reason to feign ignorance here in public. He continues in a low voice, “There’s no need to hide—no one here is listening to us.”

“The hell’s a ‘Noct’?” Noctis went ahead and pressed himself into the wall in a futile effort to create distance between them. “That’s not my name. What do you want?”

The light that had come to Ignis’s olive eyes begins to fade. “Do you…not remember me? Have you forgotten everything?”

“I don’t know you, and you’re making me really uncomfortable,” Noctis says, turning his face away. “You’ve obviously got the wrong dude.”

Ignis sees something at that moment: a patch of hair is missing from the right side of Noctis’s head, an old wound that has long since healed. Ignis finds himself reaching for it reflexively, but Noctis bats his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“I-I apologize,” Ignis says, his voice wavering with the beat of his heart. People nearby had begun to stare, and Ignis takes a step back from him. “Noct, the camping trip—me, Gladio, Prompto—do you remember any of it? It’s been so long. There were explosions—we tried to find you—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m really tired,” Noctis says, holding his messenger bag close to him as if to comfort himself. “Please, I just want to get to work.”

The swelling in Ignis’s chest sinks heavily into the pit of his stomach.

_He doesn’t remember a thing._

“What is your name, then?”

There’s some hesitation, but Noctis gives it up. “My name’s Ater, okay? I don’t know who this ‘Noct’ is.” The train lurches to a stop. “I-I gotta go, okay?”

 _Ater_ pushes past Ignis and exits as the doors open.

“Wait!” Ignis follows as the crowd spills out after him.

“Don’t follow me.”

Ignis comes to a stop at the base of the stairs as people rush out, flooding him like water. Noctis is lost to the crowd, faceless and absorbed completely, as the city bell tolls the half-hour.

He is very late to work that morning.


	3. Have a Nice Day

Noctis is nothing if not predictable.

That is to say, routine has been a strong part of the once-prince’s life, not by nature but out of necessity. Once he finds his rhythm, he tends to stick to it. He unwittingly owes much of that to Ignis as rote muscle memory carries him through his morning routine.

_Take the B to the J line._

_Cut through the financial square, past the old statue of King Mors._

_Grab breakfast from the stand on 17th and Broadway._

_Open up._

_Put out any fires that may have erupted overnight._

_Get ready for business._

On a lucky day, the Bob K. Treat Hotel in Historic Old Insomnia might get more than four new customers. Its reputation precedes it, yet to be rivaled by any attempts at rebranding: talks of ghosts haunting hodgepodge-styled rooms and apathetic service have long become associated with the name. How any of the staff continue to be paid is a true mystery with even darker rumors.

Luckily, this makes the job easier for Noctis as he assumes his role behind the front counter, seeing that, once again, his colleagues are late. And, for yet another morning, he earns his paycheck by cracking open the latest issue of his favorite fishing magazine to tend to the crossword puzzle.

Any kind of regular morning cadence flees from his mind as a familiar voice interrupts him on his third word.

Because, yes, _of course_ it’d be tough to shake a guy this crazy.

“ _Ater_.”

“Y-you.” Noctis looks like he’s short-circuited. He shakes his head into a proper smile, bright-eyed, shiny-toothed. There it is: the Customer Service Face. “Welcome to the Bob K. Treat Hotel!” he says through a gritted smile. “How may I help you this morning?”

“I was looking to book a room for the night. I’ve heard… _things_ about this hotel, and I’d like to stay here while I’m… _in the area._ ”

“Great!” Noctis’s voice is an octave too high.

Ignis speaks in a lower voice as Noctis fires up his computer. “I’d also like to apologize for my actions yesterday.”

And Noctis responds incredulously. “No, you’d like to stalk me until I tell you I’m who you think I am.”

Ignis can’t help but smile. Noctis has a perfectly appropriate amount of apprehension for this situation. In all sincerity, Ignis had spent the night searching for every “Ater” in Insomnia, then narrowing down his search to those who worked in the commerce district, and so forth…

“You really can’t remember anything, can you? You’d like to know more about yourself, wouldn’t you?”

Noctis fails to acknowledge him with words, eyes glued to the computer as it finally allows him to log in, but his face betrays him: his expression softens, eyebrows relaxed yet flat upon his brow, as a hidden desperation struggled to be held back. His typing pauses for but a second before continuing.

“And just what did you Moogle about me last night?”

Ignis smirks. “I learned that you had a lucrative career on Final _Fun_ tasy.com…”

Noctis turns red, eyes shooting upward. “What?!”

Ignis gives a light laugh, admittedly at Noctis’s expense. “Come, now. I don’t need to use the internet to know things about you. And, truthfully, little about you is out there.” Ignis steps forward, leaning in over the counter slightly towards Noctis. “I know you have a deep scar across your mid-lower back. You walk with a slight limp because of it.”

Noctis can feel himself begin to sweat. “I’ll need your credit card.”

Ignis hands it to him, and Noctis processes it quickly before handing it back.

“And how do I know _you_ didn’t have something to do with that?” He’s trying not to glare.

Ignis speaks even more softly despite no one else being around. “I was not there to witness the event, as I was ill at the time, but I received full word and detail when you returned. You had been on a trip with your family—a business trip of sorts. You were little more than eight. They brought you along, you see. A daemon attack on the road claimed your mother’s life and injured you gravely, but you survived thanks to your father. You both spent a long time convalescing in Tenebrae. You were doing surprisingly well when you finally came back to us.”

Noctis appears to be processing Ignis’s words, staring blankly forward at Ignis’s pocket square before blinking back up at him. “I was eight? We’ve known each other since I was _eight_?”

“Longer, actually,” Ignis says, his expression growing ever more gentle.

The shorter man stands for a few more moments in silence. A small, plastic key emits from the machine beside him, and Noctis hands it to Ignis. “Room 215.”

Ignis accepts the card, noticing something strange. There were two cards—one paper. A business card.

“So you believe me?”

“You’d have to be some kinda psychopath to make all that up on the fly,” Noctis replies. “If it turns out that you are, at least life’ll get more interesting for a bit.”

Ignis reaches into his inner blazer pocket and produces a card, holding it between his index and middle fingers before flipping it into a more proper hold, handing it to Noctis two-handedly with a slight bow. Noctis accepts it and looks it over: _Ignis Scientia_ is embossed in gold foil on an elegant black stock, no role, no profession, only a phone number.

Ignis reads over Noctis’s card: _Ater Somnambula. Freelancer._ It looks much like a print-on-demand company’s default template, plain black text and all.

“Freelancer?”

“Uh, I have a few side hustles.” Noctis raises his hand to the scar on his head, futilely combing a bit of hair over it before it slips away to reveal it once more.

When his eyes return to Ignis’s, he is met with a warm smile. “Would you perhaps fancy dinner later this evening? It would give us ample time to talk—”

“About that,” Noctis says, fidgeting as he stuffed Ignis’s card into his pocket. “I’ve actually got stuff tonight, so…”

“In that case, we’ll coordinate a different time to catch up.”

“Yeah. You know where I’ll be, I guess.”

“Very well. I’ll let you get on with your day, then, Noc… _Ater_.”

The Customer Service Face returned. “Have a nice day!”

⚜

Ignis spends his evening inspecting the hotel from every corner he can manage, catching the attention of several staff members who essentially leave him be.

Noctis spends his night curled up in the darkness of his bedroom, cold compress and blankets and white noise consuming him.

⚜

Ignis finds Noctis without even trying the next morning. For some reason, he is also on the H line today. Between a mass of people trying to keep their balance, he can see red, sunk-in eyes beneath greasy hair, all atop a full-body slouch.

He takes a seat beside him. “You’re looking rough. Should you even go into work like this?”

“No choice.” Noctis looks and sounds too weak to fabricate a lie.

“You look like you could at least use breakfast.”

“Already ate.”

“A _real_ breakfast. I know how you look when you haven’t eaten well.”

“Mmph.”

Noctis remains in this half-asleep, half-dead state until he has at least half of a hearty egg muffin and coffee in him; then he is awake enough to finish it all off with a jelly danish.

Ignis observes as Noctis eats like someone who has never seen food in his life. “You really have got to stop skipping breakfast.”

“Where’m I gonna get it?” Noctis stuffs another piece in his mouth. “The breakfast tree?”

“It doesn’t have to be a _lot_.”

Noctis pulls the napkin from his lap to wipe the crumbs from his beard. “I guess I feel better now. Thanks.”

Ignis leans on an arm. “What’s the matter, if I may ask?”

“Nothing. I just had a huge migraine last night. Nothing out of the ordinary.” He gives a half-sigh, almost as if daydreaming slightly about the pastry he just ate. “I’ll just tell ‘em that when I get to work. No big deal. Oh, what’d you think?” 

“I’ve made some notes,” Ignis says, clasping his hands with a tense pulsing of the fingers. “I thought it was clean in an…untouched sort of way, but I did find a bandage in my sheets.”

“Ugh!”

“Yes. I’ll have to relay this feedback through the proper channels.”

“They won’t listen.”

“I have _substantial_ criticisms.”

“Then they _definitely_ won’t listen.” Noctis combs his hand through his hair, making eye contact with Ignis, who is absolutely captive with him—and it’s unnerving, at best. “What’s your deal, exactly? Why are you doing this? Aren’t you going to be late, too?”

“I work for the Crown,” Ignis answers simply. “Essentially, I’m always on duty.”

“What, like one of their office drones at the Citadel, High Council, _janitor_?”

“Let’s just say I work closely with the king… _regent_.” A pained look takes over Ignis’s face as he speaks those words.

“Oh, that piece of shit Izunia?” Noctis popped a crispy pastry crumb into his mouth. “You know he tanked the economy when he repealed that Act, right? The, uh—”

“Economic Regulatory Act of 747. Yes, I had advised _strongly_ against doing so.”

“Given that you know _intimately_ what kind of shithole I work at, just know that it would have been at least a bit less shitty beforehand.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“And don’t even get me started on the immigration laws. Wait, you’re not trying to shut us down, are you?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Noctis.”

With a sigh, Noctis sits back in his seat, taking in the sight of Ignis. Despite everything, the suddenness of this all and the politics, the man is strangely relaxed, hands folded beside his neatly-finished breakfast rubbish, shoulders down, eyes alert. The green of his eyes match the gray of the overcast morning that paints the window beside them.

“What else can you tell me about myself?”

“You’re thirty. Your birthday is in August, meaning we just missed it. You have a fondness for arcade-style video games, cats, and fishing. We first met when you were three and I was five.” 

Ignis feels some small part of himself wishing to burst. Thinking that it will help little to jog his memory, and perhaps even serve to confuse more, he refrains from further detail.

Noctis’s full identity would come to full feature in due time.

He continues, “Your father passed away some years ago due to a sudden illness, the cause of which is still unknown. Your friends and I… We tried to be there for you.”

A chill runs up Noctis’s spine. As far as the things he likes and does, Ignis has it nailed. There is no way for Ignis to have found these out by mere research—and not in a mere _couple of days_.

“Noct—”

“Ater.”

“ _Ater_ , tell me. How much _can_ you remember?”

“I remember…” Noctis pauses. “I remember waking up in someone’s bed. Small house. Kinda warm. Cat and a kid hovering over me, yelling for ‘mom’. That family, they’d found me, clothed me, they fed me… The kid was the only one in the house who spoke our language, and I told her I couldn’t remember anything. Took a while to get it across—not just _whatever happened_ , but _anything_ before that.”

“That’s…” Ignis paused. “Severe.”

“Yeah. Surprised I even remember how to count, or speak, or _breathe._ Honestly, I was in a pretty bad state, but the matriarch of the house arranged something. There was a…caravan, of sorts, heading towards the city. So I went with them. They, like… Well, don’t tell anyone this—”

“Believe me, I safely possess a great many secrets of yours.”

“…But I received some sort of ID from the person running the caravan. The family said I looked like I was from the city, so it should work out. And, well, it actually wasn’t that simple, but long story short, I got in. I’d say it was a mistake—I mean, and those city guards are _tough bastards—_ but something seemed vaguely familiar as we entered the city. I’ve been with my current job for almost a year, meaning I’ll need to pick up a legit ID sometime soon, I guess.”

“Noct…”

Noctis sneers. “Quit calling me that. Even if that _was_ my name, I don’t like it.”

Ignis pulls back his sleeve to check his watch. “It’s getting rather on in the morning. I shouldn’t delay you further.”

“Not like it matters. You saw how dead it usually is in there.”

“We can always meet again later.” Ignis nods. “As a matter of fact, I would recommend it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Ignis gives a brief nod before standing. “Friday. Crow’s Nest.”

Noctis squints. _This guy’s dressed to the nines and wants to go to…Crow’s Nest?_ Not that their current venue has much high-class appeal, either, but Crow’s Nest is a whole other thing. “Got it.”

Ignis smiles amicably, a distant and yearning light shining green in his pupils. “Until then.”


	4. Work

Ignis’s job.

Even Ignis, right hand to the throne, has to pass through several security checks on his way to meet with the High Council. Every day, the first line out of the King Regent’s mouth would be a true test of his loyalty.

“Ah, Ignis, how _nice_ of you to join us this morning,” Ardyn says, sitting at the head of the roundtable. “I was just starting to miss you. Who else is going to challenge my decision to close off the border?”

Ignis sets his bag a little more roughly on the table than usual, immediately removing a binder overfilled with files. “Apologies on my tardiness. I, of course, value being your sole voice of reason.”

Ardyn’s voice is akin to that of a cat toying with a mouse. “Ignis Scientia, man of wonders. I just wonder _how_ he will change the minds of the entire council _this_ time.”

…

The King Regent and Ignis Scientia clearly share no kindness and possess only the barest shreds of trust for one another, but they can ill afford to lose each other. Ardyn, after all, has somehow reigned the past ten years without plummeting Lucis into total anarchy, and Ignis, of course, is always willing to put in much more work than is fair to him.

Ignis, too, has been biding his time, for he had known that Noctis was out there. He knows now that Noctis will make a wise and compassionate king someday. Yet, they do not even have to go that far to start Ardyn’s undoing. The solace of Noctis’s reappearance instills in Ignis a new confidence, manifesting in an ever-subtle smirk.

Walking alone down a grand Citadel corridor, the King Regent himself suddenly catches up to Ignis, tailed silently by two Kingsglaive.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you do it,” Ardyn says with the usual amount of slime in his voice.

“I wish I could say the same for you, Your Regency, but it seems predictability runs in Caelum blood.”

“I suppose it’s not a recessive trait, such as this,” Ardyn says, pawing at the flowing red hair beneath his regal fedora. “But, this is the trait that _survived_.”

Ignis stops in his tracks as Ardyn walks on with his guard, passing back one last cattish look before rounding a corner.

After a moment, Ignis ducks into an unoccupied space and pulls the phone from his blazer jacket.

“Gladio, get Prompto and meet me in the usual spot. Yes, it’s important. Let’s just say, you’ve been waiting ten years to hear this.”

⚜

Noctis’s job.

Noctis has narrowly escaped the fate of being a janitor forever by having a gentle face pretty enough to be put in front of people. At least this is what his petty and shallow front-desk colleagues had ingrained in him. It isn’t as though he’d particularly wanted the job, but more money means less stress, thus he had gone with it and quickly became the concierge manager.

Stumbling pretty-face-first into a manager position. If only it had meant anything to him.

With this, his colleagues suddenly had to begin eating their words around him, and he’d gained a _lot_ of extra reading time. Though he still has to perform janitorial duties, and even accounting on the rare occasion (hey, they’re understaffed—no one _wants_ to work for a cursed hotel, as it turns out), can someone in his position really ask for better?

By lunchtime, he’s already done the day’s work. When he returns, Dino and Coctura are already at their stations doing nothing, as usual. At least Coctura “does nothing” with snacks to offer.

“You got more homemade berry snacks for me?” Noctis smiles, looking at the dainty boxes Coctura had set behind the desk.

“You know it,” she says, winking.

“When’re ya gonna pay the gal?” says Dino with a smirk. “That’s primo stuff there—once her side hustle’s off the ground, you won’t even be able to afford it, so get it while it’s hot!”

“Uh, aren’t we the same pay grade? And you’re telling me you’ve been paying her?” Noctis blinked as he accepted a box, sitting at his station.

“ _Uh,_ in case ya forgot, I’m in the jewelry and knowin’-things business as well, and both those things make a lotta dosh. I don’t expect you to know anythin’ about _knowin’ things_ , though!”

Noctis sighs. “Yeah. So are you paying or what?”

“Coctura’s creations—hey, that’s a pretty good name! Coctura’s Creations are art—and I support my fellow artists.” Dino nods with a sly grin.

Coctura turns to Noctis and smiles. “I’ve been putting the cash back into his bag.”

Dino jumps. “What?! There’s cash in my bag?”

“You…haven’t checked your bag’s pockets in months?”

“No! Why check when there ain’t usually nothin’ in there! What the hell, ‘Tura!”

“You’re my taste testers. I can’t ask for money! You’ve helped me make them this good.”

Noctis removes a tiny blueberry tart from his box and pops it into his mouth. “And it’s _really_ good. Thanks, Coctura!”

A small man holding two travel bags stands at the counter. They only _just_ notice him. “Uh… Hello? Can I check in?”

Dino huffs, swiveling his chair forward. “Can I help youse?”

…

Hours of tedium pass where the three of them each sit and do their own thing. As usual, Coctura watches the news on her phone. Ater looks over from his magazine in time to see a rare visual: a live shot of Ignis getting out of a car, then opening the door for King Regent Izunia to emerge.

He pauses. Ignis is the real deal.

The newscaster’s voice accompanies the video. “…talks of passing new legislation regarding the broadening of the borders of Insomnia and the yet-independent territories of sovereign cities nearing it, here at the Citadel today; more as this story develops…”

Dino’s watching as well. “‘Ey, expanding territories might work out for you, huh?” He reaches across Coctura to slap Noctis on the shoulder. “Just think: you, a legitimate member of society!”

“Ow! Shut up!” Noctis recoils back, scooting his seat back away from Coctura.

“What? Think one of our residents will hear? Think they’ll rat ya out?”

“Shut up, Dino,” says Coctura with a similar bite as Noctis. “Ater has as much right to be here as I do.”

“Thanks, Coctura,” Noctis says, somewhat deflated.

“I’ll always be in your corner.” She winks.

…

Noctis’s subway ride home feels unusually long. The familiar swaying, clacking, flashing of lights as the line bobs and weaves between sky and ground, station to station, fails to calm him as it usually does. He can hardly wait to cram himself into the comfortable corner of his couch, eating what he can manage before falling asleep fast enough to avoid the migraine stirring at the base of his skull.

It ultimately comes nonetheless as he steps across his apartment’s threshold.


	5. Friends

Crow’s Nest. Friday.

Noctis’s next meeting with Ignis comes with surprises in the shape of two “friends”.

He and Ignis sit in a booth across from a large man with a scar across his left eye—obviously rugged beneath his coat—and a comparatively smaller man with hair as pale as his skin. Both of them wear a look of subdued astonishment (after all, they _are_ in public) as they look Noctis over.

Ignis gestures. “Ater. Gladio. Prompto. Your friends—your _brothers._ ”

A husky voice speaks. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

A crooked grin spreads across the pale one’s face, wide as his entire head. “It’s really you.”

Gladiolus chuckles, his face growing lighter as he smiles. “Shoulda known all that wasn’t enough to wipe you out for good,” he says with a strong emotional undercurrent. “You don’t remember _anything?_ ”

Ignis gazes at Noctis for a tense moment before Noctis speaks.

“Hi… Uh, no… Sorry. Um, it’s nice to meet you all?”

The disappointment on Noctis’s face contrasts the others’ joy. Memories or not, they seem overjoyed; this only makes Noctis feel worse.

“Well, as far as first-time meetings go,” Prompto says, “I actually kinda like this more than last time.” He chuckled.

“Actually, me too,” Gladiolus says, grinning along with Prompto.

“Well, now I feel like some sort of pariah.” Noctis rubs the back of his neck.

The waitress comes by with Noctis’s order, and he nods in thanks. He proceeds to nervously stuff his fried salmon sandwich into his mouth.

“It’s not that bad,” Gladiolus says, keeping his light mood.

Noctis speaks with his mouth full. “What happened last time?”

“Swallow first, Noct,” says Ignis.

“You called me fat,” Prompto says, sticking out his tongue.

Noctis looks genuinely shocked. “What? That doesn’t even… Huh?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I _was_ fat. You were just a tad insensitive. But, as you can see now…” Prompto spreads his arms out wide. “Not a flab to be seen! That’s all thanks to you and your lack of filter, buddy!”

“Uh… Okay…?”

“I just didn’t like you,” says Gladio. “Thought’cha were a bit of a spoiled brat. How times have changed, huh?”

Noctis turns to Ignis. “Was I spoiled?”

Ignis nods firmly. “A little.”

“You look like you could use some more spoilin’, I-M-O,” Prompto says. “You should also order the cinnamon twists. Those are the _best_.”

Noctis rubs his beard, setting his sandwich down. “I do like those, actually…”

Prompto raises his hands. “See!”

Turning toward him, Ignis smiles. “Noctis…”

Noctis snaps back. “Ater.”

“Ater, everyone at this table would take a bullet for you, even now. Trust me when I say they are your friends.”

Gladiolus and Prompto both nodded as Noctis looked toward them. “No one should take a bullet for me.”

“I’ll take thirty in a row if I have to,” says Gladio.

“Well, it’s not a contest, but…” Prompto begins, his expression growing more meek. “If I could have gone in your place all those years ago, man, I would’ve.”

Noctis idly spins the straw in his water between his fingers, avoiding the others’ gazes as their expressions grow ever more emotional. _Everything is happening so fast…_

Ignis gestures toward the others. “I believe you all had things to show _Ater_ here.”

“Oh, right!” Prompto whips out a gun.

Ater nearly leaps out of his skin, jumping to his feet. “Whoa! Wh— A gu—”

“Hey, man, relax, _chill!_ ” Prompto stands up to place his hands on Noct’s shoulders and ease him back into his seat. “Government issue, license to conceal carry, merely for protection. _Mostly._ I’m on the Crownsguard, man.” They both settle back into their seats.

“You’re lucky they know us here by now,” Gladiolus sighs.

Prompto gingerly hands the gun to Noctis. “Recognize anything about it?”

Apart from its really elaborate engravings, some of which resemble symbols of the Lucian flag, nothing really stands out about the gun in Noctis’s lack-of-memory, though it does not feel wholly alien to him. “It’s shiny? Can you put it away, please?”

With a sigh, Prompto returns the gun to its concealment. “I thought it was cool enough…”

“I _was_ gonna show you my sword,” says Gladio, “but time and place ‘n all.”

“Are you all like, bodyguards?” Noctis asks.

“One could say that’s…one of our lines of work,” Prompto answers.

“How about…” Gladiolus removes something small from his pocket: a fishing lure. Placing it on the table for display, he then looks Noctis in the eyes. “This do anything for ya?”

He has to admit, once again, that there is some familiarity with this object. Whether it had been something he’d seen and wanted from a magazine or something more, Noctis is unable to say. “It’s funny—it almost feels like I’ve dreamed of stuff like this. I don’t really dream much, though. Or sleep much.”

Ignis can recall nights where Noctis spent his entire sleep writhing, wrestling with daemons beyond the waking world. Noctis had described lucid dreams to him frequently, dreams that were both long and deep and painfully real, especially ones where he was a child once again, where he had animal companions, where he faced horrors hardly able to be imagined by those outside of his bloodline. He had been, as he is now, powerless to aid Noctis in giving him the rest he deserved.

Yet in all the perceived futility, he had tried. He had fed Noctis what he liked so that he would not go to bed hungry. He had offered Noctis a shoulder to lean on. He had listened when Noctis had felt he had nowhere else to turn, no other outlets.

Noctis is in the darkness now, somewhere in Ater’s shadow.

A few more scattered possessions of Noctis’s, and miscellaneous photos of familiar strangers doing fun things, do little to trigger any memories, and the group continues working through their lunch and catching up in the broadest of senses.

The small talk chips away at Ignis’s heart.

When finally comes the time to depart, Noctis finds his friends lingering almost painfully. He cannot shake the feeling that he has let them all down. Yet, regardless of this feeling, Gladiolus finally breaches the gap created by hanging silence without “good-bye”s. “C’mon. Bring it in. For old times’ sake.” Gladiolus spreads his arms slightly, gesturing his fingers to beckon Noctis and the others closer. “Please.”

Noctis, of course, can’t remember the last time he had been hugged and wasn’t quite sure he was ready for one from a man of such stature, but he finds himself approaching nonetheless as Prompto and Ignis join him.

Gladiolus’s arms can wrap around all three of them. They are nearly crushed like grapes.

“Hey—” Prompto squirms. “You’re not gonna—crush the memories back into him!”

“You sure?” Gladiolus smiles.

“Positive,” Ignis insists.

“I don’t feel anything—happening—except my spine dislocating—” breathes Noctis.

Gladiolus finally lets go, the other men settling into sighs as they catch their breath. “You just call us if you ever need anything. Seriously—we’ll be on ya like flies on stink.”

“Uh…” Noctis stares blankly.

“Really, Gladio?” Prompto places his hands on his hips. “More like chocobos on gysahl greens. There, isn’t that nicer?” He pats Noctis on the shoulder a couple times, smile melting into a soft, lingering look that, once again, portrays something deeper. Noctis can tell how much the blond must have missed him.

Noctis can feel his brow furrowing. Those violet-hued eyes do _nothing_ for him.

“Prompto,” Gladiolus says, snapping the small man out of it with a pat of his own, “let’s mosey. We got some important stuff to do now that our friend is back.”

“Oh, yeah!” Prompto started following Gladio, still facing Ignis and Noctis. “Hope ya like surprise parties, bud!” Prompto shot Noctis the old finger-guns-and-tongue-click.

“I hate them, actually.” Noctis’s voice is flat.

“I know that! Expect one on the twenty-eighth at three!”

Prompto chuckles as he follows Gladiolus out of the establishment, leaving Ignis and Noctis to their devices. Noctis turns toward Ignis with hesitance.

“Don’t you have to leave, too, then?”

“Actually, I’m free for this evening. The others are likely free as well… I know they would like to prepare something for you.” Ignis sits back in their booth, Noctis following suit.

“Aw, man… All of this is, like…a _lot_ all at once, you know?”

“Promise I’m not trying to overwhelm you.”

“I know.” Noctis sighs. “That’s just the way it is.”

After a few moments of silence, Ignis orders some more drinks.

Noctis looks up from over his soda, staring as Ignis’s gaze remains fixed on him.

“Do you ever feel like something deep inside of you is trying to burst out?”

“All the time.”

⚜

“I’ve found Noctis.”

Not long before their meeting, Ignis had laid it plain before the others.

Prompto nearly falls out of his chair and chokes on his soda. Gladiolus just sits there; one less perceptive than Ignis would not notice his eyes widening slightly, the shape of his brow changing, his seated position shifting ever-so-slightly.

“Wh—Okay, where is he, then?” Prompto rights himself, hastily drying his soda can against his already soiled shirt.

Ignis sighs, looking away as he raises fingers to his temple. “He went home.”

“Went h—You’re not makin’ any sense, man.”

Gladiolus stands to meet the tall man’s eye as Ignis begins to pace. “Ignis. Start talking.”

With another sigh, Ignis takes a seat, offering Prompto his handkerchief as Gladiolus takes his seat back next to him.

“Noctis isn’t as we remember him,” he says, a solemn air to his voice. “He’s…”

“A zombie?!” Prompto blurts out.

“…Lost his memories.”

“Oh, shit, that’s even worse!” Prompto turns to see Gladiolus glaring at him. “What?”

Gladiolus’s brow furrows deeply. “Are you gonna take this seriously?”

“I am, dude! It’s just… It’s been so long, and—”

“And you thought he was dead?” Gladiolus’s voice is just on the verge of upset.

“Of course not! Look at Iggy’s face, though—” Prompto tosses a hand in Ignis’s direction. “He looks like he was about to tell us Noct washed ashore or secretly became a villain, or something!” He had begun gesticulating along with his words.

“Just a _simple_ case of amnesia,” Ignis says lightly, a wry grin appearing at the corners of his lips. “He’s nonetheless among the living and seems to be well. He did not recognize me even the faintest bit, but it’s definitely him.”

“And he didn’t try to figure you out immediately?” Gladiolus says.

“He seemed not to want to be bothered.”

Gladiolus scoffs, crossing his arms. “Typical.”

“And he goes by ‘Ater’ now. I’ve won some trust with him since our ‘reunion’ and secured his place of work. I feel as though we should not overwhelm him, yet we will all need to meet soon if we have any chance at restoring his memories.”

It all finally seems to be sinking in with Prompto. “Wow… Noct’s really back, huh.”

“What’re you gonna say to him first?” Gladiolus says, his face finally softening into a smile.

“I’m gonna give him the name of my therapist. And my weed guy.”

“In the interest of not desiring to overwhelm,” Ignis adds, “I hesitate to make him aware of the full truth of who he is for now.”

“As nice as it’d be not to have a clown on our throne,” Gladiolus begins, “I’m inclined to agree. Noct’s a responsible guy, but it ain’t gonna do us any good if he doesn’t have the memories to fortify the mind.”

“Yeah, you may as well make _me_ king at that point.” Prompto thinks about this for a moment, then shudders out loud.

“What, you wouldn’t wanna be king?”

“And have that sword hangin’ above my head? No way!”

Ignis leans forward with intent, hands spread on the table between them. “I need you all to find some things that might jog his memory, perhaps from the trip: photos, keepsakes, old gifts. Find as many as you can: the more meaningful, the better. I have some of his possessions. With them, we shall guide him down the path back to his memories.”

What Ignis had not said at the time— _would not_ say—is the logical conclusion from what he knows so far: that this amnesia, yet untouched by modern medicine and complicated further by the royal blood that bore it, may never be cured.

He will not let logic take hold of his heart when it needed room for hope.


	6. Lost

Some days pass before Ignis realizes how long it’s been since he’d last seen Noctis. In the rush to make arrangements so that Noctis can feel more at home among his comrades, he finds that nearly a week has passed, and the twenty-eighth is nigh. Communication between them has already been sparse (Noctis had never been much of a texter; only for “emergencies” such as forgetting to do the laundry before a big meeting).

A tiny voice in the back of Ignis’s mind tells him _Noctis could be lying in a_ ditch _somewhere_ , and he swiftly quells it as he calls Noctis’s phone.

It rings for a minute without being answered.

He calls Noctis’s place of work. It rings for a straight minute before anyone picks up.

“Hello? Is anyone working today?” Ignis had tried to contain his irritation in a tapping toe, but it also manages to come out in his voice.

“Uh, yeah,” the voice on the other end drones. “Historic Bob Treat Hotel. How can I h—”

“Apologies for the sudden outburst, but is Ater working today?”

“Ater? We ain’t seen him in days. Think he’s sick, but nobody can reach him. Hear tell he might be canned, but we’re already short-staffed, so I guess we’re just waitin’ it out.”

Ignis grips the phone in his hand tightly. “And nobody’s checked on him?!”

“Eh. Like I said, short-staffed. I practically live here, pal. Can’t pay rent offa this. Right, Coctura? We’re millennials here. Surely you know the grind, even wit’ that accent.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Have a nice day, sir.”

…

It doesn’t take Ignis long to locate Noctis’s place of residence. Further out from town, where the subway rattles the sides of aged apartment buildings that Galahdan transplants make their homes, he finds the address he had sought, resting at the bottom floor of a plain, red brick building, window blinds shut.

He knocks one, two, three, four times firmly, quickly. He waits; there is no answer. Four more knocks, then the bell. Still no answer.

He begins to fear the worst. Before he can allow the dread in the pit of his stomach to bubble up into his throat, he decides to try opening the door, pressing down on the latch gently.

It opens.

Noctis is standing right in the doorway, clear of the now-open door.

“Ah! Ater!” Ignis is at a loss for words. “I…”

“Sorry,” Noctis begins, “I know it’s been a while since I, like, texted you. But I’m not really up to it right now, so…”

Noctis doesn’t look especially ill to Ignis, but he also doesn’t look well; his hair is even longer and disheveled, and his beard has reached a new level of unkempt thickness. He would be unrecognizable if not for his eyes, though even they lack their usual shine. His all-black wardrobe of plain sweater and sweatpants betray how long he has been wearing them without doing laundry.

Just standing there, Ignis can smell something pungent coming from deeper inside. Noctis blocks his point of view deliberately, moving side to side with him as Ignis tries to see around him. Their height disparity grants Ignis a clear view of a pile of trash bags just at the end of the entranceway.

“Ater, are you unwell? Do you need help?” Ignis attempts to step more into the place, but his opposite doesn’t budge.

“I’m good here, thanks.” Noctis attempts to start closing the door, but the pointy end of Ignis’s shoe catches it and stops him.

“You’ve always been one to withdraw,” Ignis says, a gentle tone taking over. “Let me help you. It’s what I’ve always done.”

“I’m not exactly sure what it is you could do here.”

“I can lighten the load just a little. Just for a day. Come on.”

Noctis sighs. “You’re probably going to hate me.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that.”

With another sigh, Noctis reopens the door and allows Ignis through.

Ignis’s first steps are cautious. The carpet in this walkway is littered with _litter_ and obviously hasn’t been vacuumed or cleaned in ages. The strange stench only gets stronger as he goes further in; it’s stronger than the pile of bags in the corner ahead could take credit for.

Noctis walks ahead of him as they round the corner into the living room, stepping over heaps of trash and various other objects on the floor and flopping down on the small couch’s one free spot.

Noctis’s apartment is nearly packed with trash.

In the midst of stacks of aged pizza boxes, trash bags, and open piles of garbage, there are but a few walkable areas leading to the bathroom and the bedroom. The kitchen, it seems, is blocked off completely, itself filled with trash. As Ignis makes his way down these relatively clear paths, trying not to trip on discarded pens and slip on banana peels, he also catches glimpses of a few things that do not resemble trash—unopened boxes of rare collector’s items, “new” food packaging, shipping boxes that were never opened. Some items have obviously been where they are for years.

“Noctis…”

Noctis groans as he turns over onto his arm, shoving his face into a pillow. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ater, I can help you with this.”

“Why bother? Nothing’s ever going to change.”

“Don’t say that. Come on.” Ignis picks up an empty cracker box from underneath a soiled shirt.

Noctis’s head pops up from behind the arm of the couch. “What are you doing?” He crawls off of the couch and rushes over to Ignis without stumbling, having memorized the paths through the trash. “Hey!” He slaps the box out of Ignis’s hand.

Ignis is stunned. “Wh—I—”

“You just waltz in here, you start touching my stuff—why? What do you even want?”

“N—Ater, you’re obviously not doing well,” Ignis says, still stunned yet keeping calm. “I only want to help. It will make you feel better. I’d hoped that seeing your friends would have helped your memories, but if you’re dealing with all this as well, I could at least help clean up the _obvious_ trash, and—”

“That’s not trash!” Noctis is _just_ short of belligerent. “You know what happened the day I ate that box of crackers? I found my subway pass! It’s lucky!”

“You ate the entire box of crackers?”

“It was dinner.”

Ignis only stares blankly.

“Shut up!”

“I…didn’t say anything.”

“Listen, Ignis,” Noctis says, sighing. “I let you in because… I don’t know why, actually, but _please_ don’t mess with anything, alright?” He sits back down on the couch, idly holding the empty cracker box. “It’s enough that you suddenly showed up in my life, and now there are all these _people_ I don’t know a _thing_ about, and now you want to turn my apartment upside-down, too?”

Ignis sees in Noctis’s eyes a familiar sadness. In those days after King Regis had passed away, he had seen it, burnt into his memory; eyes filled with all the sorrow of a son without his father, along with the weight and responsibility of the entire world on his shoulders. Then, too, Ignis had felt compelled to take all this pain away from him. That is when their friend group had decided to take a trip, a trip that would steal Noctis away for the longest decade of Ignis’s life.

Perhaps he could have been content to just allow Noctis to process his feelings back then. Yet this is where they are now. Noctis cannot process them here. Ignis sees him trapped in his self-made trash prison.

Ignis sits close beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Noctis flinches but does not draw away.

“Ater, I want you to be able to talk to me candidly, knowing that I have your best interests at heart.”

“You don’t even know me,” Ater mumbles half-heartedly, looking down, knowing somewhere in his DNA that this is not true.

“When did all of this begin?”

“You know…” Noctis stares into the middle distance, past a mound of unwashed laundry. “I called myself lucky. When I arrived in this city, when I made it past those racist-ass border guards just because I have black hair, I was able to find this place and get a job on pretty much the same day. Plus, I had a pretty sweet cat. It all worked out in the end, right? But…there’s nothing to do here. TV is pointless. My job’s the same shit every day—y’know, an endless string of ingrates expecting five-star service at a two-star hotel. Shiva bless the good ones, but man. And I get home every night and think, ‘What was the point of all that?’ It’s a wonder I haven’t started drinking.” Noctis shifts, leaning over some trash. “My coworkers don’t seem to mind how meaningless it all is. I wish I knew what it was like to live that way. Then again, they have their memories to distract them from it all. Oh, and friends—which, yeah, surprise, Dino has friends. Shocked me, too. You met the guy; you know what I’m talking about.”

“Ater, you _have_ friends. We can help you.”

“I _have_ Speckio. Well, _had_ Speckio, before she ran off. But I’m sure if she were still here, she’d still be my friend. Now I have Mr. Squishy here.” Noctis stands to walk over to a pile of trash, under which is sitting a moderately large jellyfish plush. “I rescued him from one of those shitty UFO catchers.”

“So, your _friends_ …ran away and are buried in trash?”

“This is called equilibrium, Ignis.”

“Noct—”

“I swear if you call me that one more time!”

“I apo—”

“Listen, this is all I have, all right? No one can take this away from me. That stack of pizza boxes? I put it there! I remember each and every one, too! This one?” Noctis pulls a mold-encrusted box from the near-top of the pile. “Cheese. August twenty-second, 762. The Wraiths won the World Series. This one?” Dropping that box, he pulls another from the middle with a Jenga-like precision in spite of its biodegrading state. “Pineapple and ham. May seventeenth, 759. I found seven hundred gil lying in the street. That was the _exact_ price of this pizza.”

Ignis is rendered speechless as he watches the box fall apart in Noctis’s hand.

Noctis drops the other half of the box. “Alright. It’s shitty. I know it’s shit! It’s all shit! But…it’s, like, _my_ shit, okay?”

Ignis sighs. “I understand, Ater.”

“Do you really?”

Ignis can see the disappointment, the despair in Noctis’s eyes, but something had changed in the last few minutes. There was the tiniest spark of hope, now that Noctis had lain himself bare before his old friend.

“You want to gain control of your life. To know that what you’re doing matters. This is something everyone in life desires. I know I can help you there.”

“Why? Why are you doing this at all? Even if you knew me, I’m just a nobody now.”

“You’re _our_ ‘nobody’, Ater. Allow your friends to aid you.”

“I have to say, I’m…” Noctis pauses. “…not thrilled about the idea of letting more people know what I shitheap I’m living in.”

“I assure you, they will not judge. They know you, too, after all.”

“So you’re saying I’m a known slob.”

“Ater…”

⚜

As usual, it does not take Ignis long to wrangle their friends, nor does it take long to debrief them.

Prompto and Gladiolus attempt to mute their astonishment upon seeing the full living room.

“No need to hide your shock, guys,” Noctis says, his tone deflated. “I know it’s bad already.”

“Nah, man,” Prompto starts, setting down his armful of trash bags. “Well, yeah, it’s bad, but not as bad as I was expecting. Not like that TV show where people don’t flush the toilet for decades and have, like, dying animals and mold all over the place. Right?”

Noctis doesn’t say anything.

“Oh. Oh, gods.” Prompto carefully makes his way to the bathroom to check, squeezing himself between trash and the doorway. “Wait, I don’t smell anything rancid.”

“Yeah, I’m not fucking gross, dude.”

“Don’t play me like that, No—er, Ater! Though, I dunno how you shower with all the stuff in here.”

“Sink’s good enough.”

“Dude.”

Gladiolus surveys the place with the stoic face of a war veteran. “We might have to call the Marshal. Or run a second pass, at least.” Beginning his investigation, he peeks under a stack of newspapers. “They haven’t sold newspapers in this part of the city for at least four years.” There are old packs of microwavable pastries beneath the newspaper. “Hey, you know these have to be refrigerated, right?”

“Not those,” Noctis says. “I got them off the shelf.”

“Yeah, some lazy bum probably just put ‘em there instead of returning ‘em to the freezer when they didn’t want ‘em anymore. Not that it matters. It’s been… at least five years, I’m assuming.”

“Your memory’s really good,” Prompto says, returning from the bathroom. “Except the part where everything goes blank after about ten years back. We gotta figure out what’s damming up your old memories soon, huh? One thing at a time, though.” Prompto picks up the broken tablet he just stepped over. “We can consult you before throwing anything away. So, how about this? Screen’s broken and is even missing a piece. This has moved from ‘trash’ to ‘health hazard’.”

“I just gotta find a do-it-yourself video to help me fix that! It’s fine!”

“It’s covered in crumbs and whatever this crust in the floor is!” Gladiolus says a bit too forcefully.

“By the way, you are _not_ getting your deposit back on this place,” Prompto adds.

“It’s still good!” Noctis insists.

“They don’t even make the type of plug this device needs anymore,” Prompto says, peering at its side ports. “Where did you get this? Maybe they still have some spares.”

“I found that in a gutter, actually.”

Prompto pauses. “So… Trash?”

Noctis sighs. “Okay, fine, _trash it_.”

Prompto does as suggested and drops the tablet in a trash bag. Noctis combs his fingers through his hair and sighs again.

Prompto then picks up the next thing near his feet—a torn-up old pair of shoes. “Did you find these in a gutter, too? This totally isn’t your style, man.”

“Yeah…”

“Wait, have you been _bringing_ trash into your home, too?” Gladiolus looks incredulous.

“It wasn’t trash at the time!” Noctis pushes back.

“Okay, everyone, let’s calm down,” Prompto says, positioning himself between the two men before anything starts. “We’re here to deal with what we’ve got, and we’re going to do whatever N—Ater says.” He turns to Noctis with a pleasant smile. “So, stinky shoes—save or keep?”

“I mean, they’re still good…”

“Dude. I mean…okay.” Prompto sets them down again. “Er, we’re gonna have to clear space for a ‘keep’ pile. Gladio? The pizza boxes?”

Gladiolus turns toward Noctis, his annoyance apparent on his face. “Please tell me you’re gonna let us toss the actual trash.”

Noctis winces as Gladiolus begins picking up the pizza boxes.

Gladiolus snaps, “It’s trash!”

“Hey! Be careful! If you’re going to throw them away, at least show them some respect!” Noctis stands, gripping his fists. “That one on the bottom there—I had a really good customer service call that day. I remember it clearly! Winter! Snow was forecast but didn’t happen! Ground turkey and banana peppers!”

“It’s trash!”

“Okay, guys —” Prompto holds out his hands between them. “How about we come back to the pizza boxes?”

“This is gonna take forever! You see how much shit’s in here?” Gladiolus sidesteps Prompto, boxes in hand. “I should be wearing a freakin’ hazmat suit! I’ll probably have to take a hot vinegar shower after handling all these! I’m tossin’ them!”

Gladiolus shoves the boxes into a larger garbage bag, then begins picking up other trash—soiled old cake tins, torn candy wrappers, crushed soda cans, and the like. Noctis flops back onto his couch, fingers threaded into his hair and grip tightening.

“You okay, Ater?” Prompto sits beside him as Noctis shuts down.

Noctis can’t even look at him. “No… It’s too much. You… You all are ruining it… All of it… I feel like I can’t breathe. Everything’s spinning.”

“Gladio,” Ignis says sternly, “we talked about this.”

Gladiolus shoves a few empty snack bags into the trash bag. “What? We can’t just toss the fuckin’ trash, either?” He picks a sunflower kernel off of the floor. “Do we have to ask His Highness permission if we can throw _this_ away as well?”

“Gladio—”

Noctis wheezes. “Please stop…” He sinks down onto his side and away from Prompto.

Prompto turns to Gladio. “He can’t breathe, dude! Stop!”

With a grunt, Gladiolus stops and drops the bag, some of the trash tumbling back out onto the floor.

Ignis sighs.

All of them stew for a moment in silence.

Finally, Noctis’s voice breaks the silence, hanging in the air small and weak.

“Do you guys think I want to be this way? I can’t…can’t stop it. I… I’m sorry.”

Gladiolus stops holding his breath and sighs, walking over to Noctis. “I’m sorry, too. S’been a while, huh? Guess it don’t have to be overturned in one night. We really need to make sure this place’s safe for ya, though. Didja see that recent report about flesh-eating bacteria? It’s impossible to keep clean with all this stuff around.”

Noctis begins to answer, but then a sound catches everyone’s notice—a tiny sound still too distinct to miss.

Prompto traces the sound to the place the pizza boxes had been, pushing aside a few other heavier boxes until his eyes lay upon a new scene. Noctis rises to join the other three, and hunch to view before them a speckled calico and a tiny litter of four nursing kittens, bundled into an old blanket.

“Oh… Oh, Six, Speckio…” Noctis’s eyes almost well up with tears. “Specky, I thought you were gone! And you’re a mom now?”

“She’s been living here the whole time,” Ignis says.

Just beyond this little bundle of joy were the remains of several rats, and further still could be seen where the cats had to make waste, far enough from their meals.

Noctis stands up straight, the others straightening with them. “Okay. Trash it all.”

“Are you sure?” Ignis asks.

It’s hard for Noctis to even speak. “It’s so bad that I didn’t even know Specky was still here. I haven’t taken care of her in, what, months? A year? I…I can’t, not anymore. I don’t need any of this shit. Trash it.”

Ignis looks at Gladio, and they both nod.

“Prompto, stay here with Noctis,” Ignis says. “We’re going to get backup.”

“And cat supplies,” Gladiolus says.

⚜

The Marshal’s men are paid well enough to keep quiet about the Noctis situation. With their help, the crew is able to take away myriad bags of trash from Noctis’s home, making it easier to maneuver about as well as to clean.

Ignis and Gladiolus perform the bulk of the heavy lifting initially; Prompto stays by Noctis’s side to help with the panic attacks. Once the large piles have been cleared and the laundry prepared for the laundromat, Noctis starts seeing parts of his home he hasn’t seen in years and begins perking up. With a renewed energy, he joins in the efforts to clean, particularly the area the cats had been in.

He and Prompto continue to mind the felines as the day winds down.

“Ater,” Ignis says, taking a seat beside Noctis as he finishes wiping down the last kitten with pet-safe wipes. In his hand he holds a ticket—not an aged relic from underneath piles of trash, but a relatively new item. It is even dated a few weeks ago. “I know you have a story behind all of these things. What is this ticket’s story? It seems to have been kept separately from all the others in one of the trash piles we cleared.”

“Oh, that.” Noctis looks away with a look of embarrassment. “That’s, um.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” Ignis nods assuringly. “Just thought I’d ask before tossing it.” He hands the ticket to Noctis.

Taking it, Noctis holds it in one hand, kitten in the other. “This… This is from the day I met you. Well, you know, on the train. I…” He hesitates. “I knew there was something special about you. Somehow, somewhere in my head, I knew. And I had a feeling we’d meet again, even if I told you off. But if I never saw you again and it turned out to be all in my head, I wanted to keep something to remember that day, anyhow.”

“Well.” Ignis smiles, offering a hand to take the ticket back. “You won’t be needing this anymore, then. You have me.”

Noctis feels a smile creeping onto his face before Prompto nudges him gently with an elbow.

“We should name this one Sheldon,” Prompto says, holding up one of the kittens, a more bug-eyed calico. “I dunno. It just seems like a ‘Sheldon’, don’tcha think?”

Noctis looks over the kitten. “Prompto, this one’s a girl.”

“Oh. So?”

Gladiolus comes in from hauling out another set of trash bags and stops to look at the litter. “Y’know, my sis would love to have a kitten right around now, I bet. Might make a great gift. Once they’re old enough, of course.”

Noctis scoops all the kittens up into his arms.

“You know you can’t,” Ignis says.

“I know…” Noctis sighs.

“It’s okay,” Prompto says, again picking up little Sheldon. “You can visit mine whenever you want.”

“These kittens will need to stay with their mother for a few more weeks at least,” Ignis remarks.

“Then I’ll help them along until then! Hear that, Ater?” Prompto grins. “After everything’s all cleaned up, we’re gonna catify your place!”

Noctis perks up. “ _Catify_?”

“On that note,” Gladiolus says, “I needja to look at a few things before we toss it.”

Gladiolus leads the group over to the “keeper pile”, where rests several stacks of relatively okay-looking items: boxed first-edition figures and completely sealed shipping boxes. Noctis can’t help but continue to feel embarrassed at the mass of things he hadn’t even begun to touch in all these years.

“I know you said ‘toss it all’,” Gladiolus says, “but I just wanted to make sure you didn’t wanna take a look at some of this stuff.”

Holding the wriggling kittens in his arms, Noctis retains his resolve. “I really did mean it. But if any of you wanna take a crack at this stuff or give it away, go right ahead. I don’t know if any of it’s worth anything anymore, anyway.”

“Ooh! I love unboxing!” Prompto pulls a tiny knife from his back pocket. “Don’t mind if I do!”

Gladiolus joins Prompto in opening up some of the sealed shipping boxes, making quick work of their packaging.

“You’ve already got some first-ed POPs out, so I can only imagine what’s in here,” Prompto says, reaching into his first opened box. “And this is…” He gasps. “A Play-Arts Gilgamesh figure?! Dude, they only made, like, fifteen of these! And he’s just been sitting in here…”

“Take him,” Noctis says. “I don’t even remember buying that…”

Gladiolus surveys the contents of his box. It looks to be a full set of mini figurines for the popular game King’s Knight. “Huh. I don’t suppose your two-star hotel’s salary supports this kind of shopping, does it, Ater?”

“Heh. Yeah, about that.” Noctis sits down with his kitties, refusing to make eye contact with anybody. “So, I didn’t really understand how credit cards worked when I got here.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

Prompto makes covetous grabby-hands at his next unboxed prize: some original Chrono Cross figures. “Dude, this stuff is still worth a fortune. Ooh! Idea!” He holds the Chrono figure above his head much like the newborn son of an animal ruler. “We can sell all this stuff for tons more than its original value. That should dig you out of some of that debt.” He flashes Noctis an uplifting smile. “Yeah?”

Noctis chuckles, nodding. “Thanks, guys.”

…

Night falls, and Noctis and the others survey his cleaner apartment. There is more room to move around, most of the trash has been cleared, and there are now usable surfaces—tables, counters, a bed, and, of course, the shower.

The cat corner has gained a new tree, several blankets and pillows, toys and treats. Noctis feels the most joy looking at this, knowing the cats no longer have to live in squalor.

“This is just the beginning,” Gladiolus says as Noctis looks back at him. “When we come back, we can getcha some shelves. Probably need a humidifier, too. After we deep-clean the floors, of course.”

Prompto takes high-quality photos of all the figures to be sold. He’s pulled the Gilgamesh one to the side, however. “Uh, is it okay if I maybe keep this one? Seriously, it’s so cool. I know it’d probably net you mad gil, but…”

“Seeing as I can never actually repay you for helping me, keep what you want,” Noctis says.

“No need for payment, good buddy.” Prompto slaps Noctis on the shoulder. “What kinda friend would I be if I didn’t help dig you out of a trash pit?”

Noctis smiles. He seems a little weak; Prompto reads it as being tired, as all of them are.

“We better mosey,” Gladiolus says, brushing his hands together.

“Yeah, we’ve got a big day tomorrow!” Prompto pats one of the piles of figures before heading to the door. “eBay, look out!”

Ignis can’t help but notice how sad Noctis has begun to look.

“Yeah… Night, guys,” Noctis bids the two as they start heading out the door.

“We’ll be in touch for round two,” Gladiolus says, shooting Noctis a thumbs-up before slipping through the door.

“Night-night!” Prompto waves, following him.

Ignis places a hand on Noctis’s shoulder, seemingly breaking him out of thought.

“Ater, are you going to be okay tonight?”

“I…” Noctis doesn’t know how to answer. Still holding a kitten, he stares off into the middle distance where all his junk used to be.

“If it helps, I can stay with you.”

Finally, Noctis answers. “No, I’ll be fine.” He sits down on the couch, looking at tiny Sheldon. “I’ll be good. I’m okay.”

“Ater.” Ignis sits beside him. “It’s okay if you would like me to stay for tonight. You don’t have to be alone.”

“I’m not alone. Look! I’ve got Specky back, and her children now, too!”

“I can help with them as well. Kittens are quite a handful.”

Sheldon wriggles out of Noctis’s grasp and begins climbing down the side of the couch.

“…Okay.”

Prompto pops his head back through the door. “Specs, you comin’?”

“Actually, I’m going to help Ater with the cats,” Ignis answers.

“Ooh, cat nanny. Okay, see ya later!” Prompto’s hand lingers waving for a moment before reaching for the doorknob and shutting it.

Both men listen to the sound of two cars starting up and pulling away.

Sinking into the couch, Noctis sighs.

The TV has been a low hum over the course of the entire day. Seldom is it ever off whenever Noctis is home, and now that the clutter has been cleared, they both can see the chaos of cords and game consoles hooked up to it.

Ignis’s face grows a small smile. Of _course_ he still has his consoles. “You’ve been gaming?”

Noctis looks a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I know I probably shouldn’t.”

“I’ve always known you to be a gamer.”

“Really?”

“It’s only natural for you to have the latest ones.” Ignis reaches over and picks up a controller.

“Oh, this isn’t the latest one. The latest one is the Play-cation Five. This one’s a Four. Plus, it’s busted.”

“Well, then.” Ignis gets up to observe the wires. “What was the problem, exactly?”

“Nothing happens when I turn the console on. It’s like something’s wrong with the video output—”

“Ah, here we go.” Ignis takes one end of the component cords and hooks them back into the TV. “Looks like they came loose at some point.”

Just hours ago, the rear of the TV had been blocked off by boxes and a perimeter of trash.

“Oh.”

Ignis turns the console on after switching the TV mode, and most assuredly, the starting screen appears. He picks up the other controller to hand to Noctis.

“Well.” Noctis adjusts his position on the couch. “Looks like I can finally finish _Final Fury_.”

…

What actually happens as the evening goes on is a vigorous session of Martial Karts 8, a multiplayer racing game that Noctis had played single-player exclusively for the past several years.

Ignis sees all of Noctis’s old habits emerge as they play, his competitiveness and even a shred of joy. Still around is also his propensity toward napping, as he begins falling asleep on Ignis’s shoulder in the middle of their final circuit.

Shutting off the game, Ignis enjoys the quietude of Noctis’s peaceful sleep as he stays there to support him and the cats.


	7. Ain't Born Yesterday

Noctis is woken up by the sound of his upstairs neighbors apparently _clogging_ on their floor.

It has been a few days since his first cleaning session; he would rather wake up again on the shoulder of a friend who’d stayed all night just for his comfort, but inconsiderate neighbors are nothing new.

Eat breakfast, brush his teeth, that routine is all the same; Prompto will take him shopping for more cereal and supplies soon. What _has_ changed in his morning routine is the use of his shower. The hot water takes several minutes to flow and lasts for half as long, but in that time, it helps melt away his old and familiar anxieties, stilling the urge to hop back onto eBay and replace his junk with more junk, fill the crevices with boxes and anything he could find.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, for a moment, he cannot recognize himself. There are hints of the first twenty years of his life showing in the most minute of ways. Looking at this stranger is, as usual, frightening, just as the first time he’d seen himself reflected in a puddle of water, yet now that fright is tinged with a bit of excitement. Who is this man that his friends know so well? When will he reemerge?

His phone buzzes on the counter beside him. Ignis’s morning check-in.

Noctis answers. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Ater. How are we?”

“Uh, I’m good.”

“No early-morning eBay for you?”

“You know, actually, I feel _no_ urge to get on eBay right now.”

“Good, good.”

“Yeah, right? It’s like, who even am I?” A weak laugh.

“So, Ater, about tonight—”

“I already got a jump on the floors, so it won’t be too hard on you all.” Noctis has a little levity to his voice. He is proud.

“Actually, the others had to cancel. This is fairly important to us, but Iris is ill and Prompto’s parents have come to town.”

“That’s fine,” Noctis says. “We can pick up again whenever.”

“I was wondering if I could still come by. Check on the cats, perhaps a rematch or two.”

Noctis’s smile grows slowly. “Yeah. Sure. I gotta warn you, though, I was Martial Karts top ten before the console went on the fritz. You’re basically going up against the best. I’d have to be _asleep_ for you to beat me.”

“I won _before_ that, too, you know.”

“Just barely, and only because that blue sword hit me at the finish line!”

Ignis chortles. “Ah, just like old times.”

Noctis pauses.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

⚜

Noctis finds himself counting down the minutes until his shift is over—not that this is particularly unusual for him, especially since the hotel is completely dead today, but for once he has something to look forward to after work.

Dino tries to snoop Noctis’s phone as the dark-haired man idly browses through social media, trying to catch a clue as to why he seems _brighter_ than usual.

“Hey,” Dino finally says, breaking a silence between them of which Noctis has not been aware. “You get laid or somethin’?”

“What?” Noctis abruptly places his phone face-down, looking at Dino.

The other man squints. “Somethin’ seems _off_ about ya today.”

“I’ve just had kind of an…eventful week so far,” Noctis says simply, choosing his words.

“Aha! I knew it!”

“Wh—You don’t know anything! And not that it’s any of your business, but _no_.”

“Whatever, pal,” Dino says, kicking his feet up onto the desk as he reclines and returns to his magazine.

Noctis clicks his tongue and returns to his phone, unlocking to take a look at his latest texts.

_“sry I can’t make it 2nite, dude! give shelly my regards!”_

_“It’s amazing that Iris is sick but you’re not. You better be keeping it clean in there.”_

He can’t help but smile.

He has _friends_.

…

After work, Noctis encounters Ignis outside of the subway terminal nearest to home.

“Ater,” says Ignis with a soft warmth to his voice, stopping him on the corner.

“Ignis,” Noctis says, looking up at him genially.

Ignis looks particularly excited. “I’m glad I caught you.”

Noctis grins. “Sure you weren’t just following me again?”

“I did actually have other business this side of town. Fortunate that we should meet now, however; I was wondering if you’d like to grab dinner. I know a good restaurant nearby.”

“I’m a little tight on cash this month, so I’ll have to pass.” Noctis rubs the back of his neck; Ignis knows that he mostly does this when embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Quite fine—I can cover us both.”

“Uh, I’d rather you didn’t. I mean, I appreciate it, but.”

“I could cook for you, then. Wouldn’t be too different from the old days.” Ignis gets excited for a moment at the notion that something he made might bring back his memories in a flash.

“I’m…tight on food, too. And, uh, don’t check the cupboards.”

“Ater, if we weren’t meeting tonight, what were you planning on eating? Not another whole box of crackers?”

“Um…”

Ignis sighs. “I’m going to run to the market. I’ll meet you at yours.”

“Thanks.”

…

Ignis shows up at Noctis’s apartment an hour later with two full bags of fresh groceries and cleaning supplies.

“You look prepared,” Noctis says, helping Ignis bring the bags inside.

“For whatever may come,” Ignis says, taking a glance toward Noctis’s kitchen.

…

The cupboards had mostly been empty. Certain critters had taken up residence over the years. Ignis takes care of them and the mess they’d left behind swiftly.

What few dishes and foods remain are old, unused and out-of-date; things that require cooking, ingredients, spices. Not everything was covered in dust: few, Ignis noted, looked as if they were still being used.

Ignis holds a can of oats in one hand, a bottle of rosemary in the other. “This is dated 761. You do know that spices expire as well, don’t you?”

Noctis scratches his head. “They do?”

Ignis sighs. “You don’t know how to cook. Not sure how I was expecting you to know _that_ , either.”

Noctis runs his fingers through his hair—another thing he does when embarrassed. “I do make a mean pan-fried vienna sausage.”

Ignis notices Noctis’s eyes—downcast, dim—and attempts to lighten the mood. “By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be able to prepare a meal fit for a king.” He places the expired food into one of several large trash bags.

Noctis smiles. “That so? Prompto did say something about you being an excellent cook.”

“I’d try to be modest, but there’s no use denying it. I’ve worked hard to be as good as I am.”

“Well, call me eager. This cleaning is working up an appetite.”

“We’ve been at it for less than an hour.”

“Yeah, and it’s been tough.”

Ignis hasn’t ever been one to placate or baby Noctis—not that he’s had to. Outside of certain eating habits, the once-prince had been easy to please and always asked for little. Some would say that his father spoiled him with what little time they had been able to share, but Noctis has been then, as now, a simple creature. Even small acts of companionship satisfied him, and hardly can he ask for more than a full belly and someone to take his mind off of his loneliness.

Yet seeing him here like this—depressed yet slowly recovering, with a glimmer of hope in his eyes Noctis had barely possessed before laying sight on Ignis at his job—compels Ignis to give into his innate desires to soothe and pacify him. After all, they _had_ already done a lot of hard work. They are teetering on a taut rope, however, in Ignis’s mind. Too far to one side, and Noctis grows complacent again, no longer striving to improve his life but staying the way he is at this moment. He does not believe that Noctis wants this, but the worry remains firmly in his head. Too far to the other side and Ignis pushes Noctis too hard, causing him to shut down, to regress—to lose everything they had gained together so far and everything they shared in common.

“Ignis?”

Ignis had been standing there a moment, bag in one hand, old cereal box in the other.

“Hey, that one’s still good,” Noctis said, taking the box. “If you’re not going to cook now, at least let me munch.”

Ignis tightens his grip on the box just before it can slip away from his fingers. “No, no. I’ve thought of just the thing to make. Let’s take these bags to the dumpster first.”

…

“Ignis! This is incredible!”

The first time Ignis had prepared the Mother and Child rice bowl for Noctis, it had been met with tepid response. It hadn’t been that Noctis disliked it, no; the prince appreciates most of Ignis’s meals, especially those of the meatier variety. However, he seldom experienced food of a lower caliber than Ignis’s cooking. For that very reason, Ignis has enjoyed cooking for Prompto whenever the chance arose later on. There is always no end of praise with him.

This time, Noctis is on that same wavelength.

Ignis nods with a bit of a smirk.

“Seriously, how’s the chicken so… _juicy_?”

“That’s the simple secret of _bag-based_ cooking. There are other methods, of course, but in a pinch, a small hen can be bag cooked quite rapidly this way.”

Noctis eats like he hasn’t eaten in a full decade.

Ignis enjoys watching him react to his cooking for the first time. In this small way, amnesia works almost like a blessing.

…

The evening goes on. It is an evening of firsts.

Unbeknownst to Noctis, Ignis is in possession of his favorite game: Fate of Fury for the Playcation One. It is only natural, he feels, that Noctis is drawn to the _Fury_ series, so watching the man’s face light up when he presents both game and system is a pure delight. After all, after a hard night’s work, he’s earned it.

“Where did you get those, man?” Noctis is astonished as he scoots closer to Ignis on the couch, trying to peer into Ignis’s bag to see what other treasures might be hidden.

Ignis smiles. “Would you be surprised if I told you they were your possessions?”

“Not really. Wow, though. These are both pretty rare now…”

“If you’re considering selling, I’d advise against it, at least right now. Sellers are undercutting to move items for the holiday.”

“Oh. Okay… It’s really okay if I play this?” Noctis looks scared to even touch the cartridge.

“It is _yours_ , after all.”

Ignis hands the console and cartridge to him, then plucks the controllers out of his bag. He watches as a large, one-sided smile grows across Noctis’s face.

“Help me set it up!”

…

Noctis and Ignis staying up all night playing videos begins to feel like a sleepover. While Ignis simply cannot get comfortable on Noctis’s couch—it’s just _too_ soft and mushy—Noctis himself begins to snooze as the hours roll on and his energy wanes.

He _is_ the only one Ignis knows that can fall asleep in the middle of an action game. Narcolepsy is really _something_.

_Just like old times._

…

Noctis has little time to be embarrassed about his habits in the morning as he is woken by a powerful migraine.

“Ugh…”

Stirred awake, Ignis peers over at his companion. Noctis is gripping his head on each side, one hand notably covering his injury.

“Ater?” Ignis speaks softly.

“‘Nother migraine. Ugh.”

Ignis carefully and quietly rises from the couch to fetch Noctis a glass of water, then hands it to him. “Drink the whole thing.”

“Doesn’t work,” Noctis groans, bending forward until his chest meets his thighs. “Nothing works.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Tried everything.”

“What about Milk of Wild Tonberry?”

“I… What?”

“It’s an old wive’s tale, but it may work where other options have failed. It is quite hard to acquire, but I should be able to secure some.”

“Mmhhmm.” Noctis nods into his legs weakly, wrapping his arms around them as if to hold onto his sanity.

Ignis makes a phone call in the next room over and departs shortly after, but not before ensuring that Noctis was as comfortable as possible—window blinds closed, white noise playing on his phone, blanket drawn over his entire body.

“I’ll be back soon.”

It doesn’t take long—Ignis is gone and back again before Noctis can hardly notice, though the pain blinding him to the world around him may have contributed somewhat. When Ignis gently rustles him from over the blanket, Noctis accepts his new, unconventional medicine and continues lying down to wait for it to work.

He waits.

And he waits.

And soon he is no longer waiting, because he has fallen asleep again, his pain having eased into a faint memory, his still-tired body accepting the sleep that it needed. He would not be roused again until the savory smell of breakfast, rather than a brain-splitting headache, comes into his consciousness.

As he drags himself into the kitchen, blanket in hand, he sees that Ignis is making good use of his one cast-iron pan.

“Feeling any better?”

“Yeah.” Noctis peeks at his breakfast in the making. Fried eggs and bacon. It is as if Ignis knows his favorite way of having them.

“The enzymes in Tonberry milk are quite powerful indeed. I’m glad they were able to help.” Ignis flips the eggs. “Did you acquire this pan pre-seasoned?”

“Uh, dunno. Is that what you call that crust on the outside? Was gonna try to get it off, but it looked impossible, so I just stowed it. Dino gave it to me. Dude eats out like, every night. No idea how. Think his parents are rich.”

Ignis tries to hide how flabbergasted he is that Noctis would try to clean the cast-iron pan. “Yes, this is seasoning of the pan. It takes quite a bit of purposeful effort to get and maintain this.”

“Oh.” Noctis keeps watching Ignis with an idle interest.

“Could you check on the waffles?” Ignis motions his spatula toward Noctis’s new waffle iron.

Noctis’s eyes nearly light up. Ignis had not forgotten his innate love of big, fluffy Tenebraean waffles.

…

Noctis still eats as if all food were about to disappear from the world forever at a moment’s notice. This aspect of his personality was new to Ignis, but he supposed a decade in squalor would have changed quite a few things.

The prince does feel the slightest bit of embarrassment when they lock eyes. He’s already done with his meal, and Ignis is only halfway through and eating like a proper gentleman.

Yet, all Ignis does is smile.

“What?” Noctis’s nervousness won’t abate.

“You know, your eyes brighten up quite a bit when you see food that you like. Your father was a bit of a foodie as well—he traveled a lot in his youth, and he and his companions dined well every place they went.”

“Is that so?”

Ignis nods. “You remind me much of him right now. Your eyes give it all away, but your beard makes you hardly recognizable as yourself. I hadn’t realized the two of you could bear such resemblance.”

Noctis rubs his beard. “You mean I used to be smooth?”

Ignis sits back in his chair contemplatively. “Yes. You hated stubble so much that you would shave every morning, regardless of how invisible it was. It does seem to grow quite rapidly.”

Noctis continues to stroke his beard. “Yeah, I haven’t really ever shaved since I got here, I guess.”

“Your beard is enviable,” Ignis admits. “I can’t seem to grow one without resembling a supervillain or cooking show host.”

“I bet you’d be great at either of those.”

“Hah.”

Noctis leans on his arm as he watches Ignis finish his food, feeling quite satisfied. There was an unfamiliar comfort to the morning, as he’d had Ignis there to care for him through the night; normally he would still be writhing in pain with his migraine, having called out from work and waiting for the pain to abate.

_Work…_

“Oh shit!” Noctis blurts after a moment of thought. “I was supposed to be at work, like, thirty minutes ago!”

“Worry not, Ater,” Ignis says, “I called in for you earlier.”

“Huh? Really?” Noctis pauses. “What did they say?”

“‘Get well soon.’”

“Oh. Thanks, Ignis!” Noctis looks completely relieved, slumping over onto his arms. “ _Six_ , I really didn’t want to go into work today.”

“Unfortunately, I must make my way out.” Ignis stands, pushing his chair closer to the table. “My duties await—I trust you can manage from here?”

“I always manage.”

Ignis nods. “Quite true. Do not hesitate to call if you need anything, including more Tonberry milk.”

Noctis looks only the slightest bit disappointed, though he is not conscious of why. “‘Kay. Hey, where does Tonberry milk come from?”

“I’ll explain it to you another time when we haven’t just eaten.”

⚜

Ignis’s duties involve researching what erecting a new framework for rule, in which to eventually insert Noctis, would be like within King Ardyn Izunia’s current regime. It is harder than it looks, especially in secrecy. Many nights, Ignis finds it all futile, starting at half-filled sheets of paper he then seals safely in locked books for returning.

What is less futile is working on Noctis. Watching him open up. Coaxing out that King.

And at this point, working on Noctis’s home is the easy part.

Ignis is the first to arrive at Noctis’s place with his offerings. When Noctis opens the door, he is a changed man.

“Noc…Ater!” Ignis stares down at Noctis, who has completely shaved his beard. Only a few knicks covered in shards of toilet paper can be seen. He otherwise appears smooth.

Noctis stares up at Ignis, waiting for him to say anything. “…Yeah?”

It feels like a full minute has passed. Ignis is transfixed. Not only does Noctis look younger, but his eyes are that much more pronounced somehow: deep blue, as the night of a full moon. Yet, all that comes out of his mouth is, “Took the blade to it all, did you?”

Noctis runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I thought it might, like, help me change my perspective on myself a little.” He steps aside to let Ignis in; Ignis follows him down the hallway. “I haven’t changed at all since I got here, but if I do this, I’ve changed, right? It’s proof. Still need a haircut, though.”

“Everyone is always changing, for better or worse,” Ignis says. “You’ve been changing as well. I would say for better. It’s good to refresh one’s style every once in a while, however. I have changed my hair a few times over the past several years.”

Noctis stops at the end of the hall and turns to face him again. “Yeah? I like it the way it is now.”

Ignis’s heart stops again as he and Noctis lock eyes.

He snaps out of it after a few moments. “Ah, you should be using this in your shower daily. Do not forget.”

…

The final deep clean makes enough room for gifts.

Prompto brings Noctis a “really cool” King’s Knight wall decal to make his walls look less “sad and lonely”.

Ignis gives Noctis some seasonal flowers “for flourish”, as well as an ottoman and other accent furniture to go with the couch. Having cleaned up the ratted old thing quite a lot, they find that it pairs well with a lot of furniture. “You’ll need more places for your friends to sit.” Yes, Ignis was in it for the long haul—however long it took for Noctis’s memories to reemerge. He makes sure to include some of Noct’s old belongings, just in case.

Gladiolus actually brings several nice items of decor—decorative shelving, paperweights, books and geode bookends, plants and pots. What Noctis doesn’t know is that most of these items are from Gladiolus’s own home, but Gladiolus has no particular use of them at the moment—and Noctis has a _dire_ lack of reading material.

“Besides,” he had said to Iris before leaving with his gifts, “we’ll get it all back eventually, right?”

Iris had teased him relentlessly. Sometimes, the man was too practical for his own good.

“I’m overwhelmed, you guys,” Noctis says, surveying the relatively pristine state of his restored abode. “This is all just…” He pauses before emotion can clog his words. “Really great. Thank you.”

Prompto pulls Noctis into a side hug. “Now ya got room for new memories, bud!”

Gladiolus joins, squeezing them both. “Yeah!”

Ignis chuckles, watching the smaller men getting the life squeezed out of them.

“Iggy! Get in here!” Gladiolus makes room for one more, and as Ignis obliges, they’re all smashed together into one big love sandwich.

…

They proceed to get lost in a movie. At least, the others do; Noctis, however, can’t help but catch how often Ignis glances at him from across the other two, glancing back. Every time their eyes meet, Ignis sharply looks away.

Yet when the third movie is halfway through, they’ve somehow shifted next to each other as Prompto begins dozing on the arm of the couch and Gladiolus starts playing a game on his phone. (The movie is not very good.)

“You know,” Ignis says softly, hoping not to disturb the others, “this place really is cozy now.”

“I’m still kind of amazed,” Noctis says, glancing over to his cat curled up with her kittens. “I didn’t even realize this place could look so good.”

“Sort of like your shave?”

Noctis smiles, rubbing his smooth chin. “You think it looks good?”

Ignis clears his throat, feeling his ears suddenly flush from his slip-up. Gladiolus glances over from his phone and raises an eyebrow.

“I just had an idea,” Ignis says, gently shaking Prompto’s shoulder.

“Muh? I’m awake,” Prompto says, yawning and scratching his head. “Hey, can we put on something else maybe?”

“Prompto, do you have your photography kit in your bag?”

“Always, dude—you know that.”

“We ought to watch some videos from our old trip.” Ignis rises to grab Prompto’s bag from off the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. “We can use this dongle to broadcast them from the cloud, right?”

“Oh, man, those videos,” Prompto says, sitting upright. He looks at Noctis. “They’re from a decade ago, so they’re gonna look all blurry. Well, maybe not so much on _this_ TV. Not like we’d have to upsample to 4k…”

“It’s been a while since we’ve revisited them,” Ignis says. “This may be interesting for you, Ater.”

“We were such babies back then,” Prompto chuckles.

“Back then?” Gladiolus snarks.

“That includes you, big man.”

Ignis sets up their video situation with only fifteen minutes of troubleshooting and a lot of audio-video daisy chaining, to surprising success. Soon they are all watching decade-old videos and photos on Noctis’s old TV. The video is surprisingly erratic, with a lack of cinematic view, mostly as it is recorded from Prompto’s perspective. Long treks up forested paths are interspersed with wide shots of each new area they encounter, as well as selfies—lots and lots of them.

“Prompto, there’s a lot of shots of yourself in here,” Noctis remarks.

“Uh, I was testing the white balance!” Prompto retorts.

“Sure,” Gladiolus says, snickering.

Of course, as they progressed through Prompto’s cloud album, the selfies began including Noctis, with a fair amount of them having goofy faces or posing in front of things like shelf mushrooms on the sides of great redwoods, or suspiciously-shaped rock formations.

“Holy shit, I forgot about Boner Rock,” Prompto says, laughing. “Wow, good times. Man, if only Cor had been there.” He turns toward Gladio. “Can you imagine? Snapping a shot of him next to this thing? He wouldn’t even realize!”

“He’d cut you down the minute that photo’d show up anywhere,” Gladiolus says.

Prompto’s laughter dies down, but not his smile. “Heh. Yeah.”

“We look awfully close in these photos,” Noctis says, leaning over to scroll manually through Prompto’s phone selection.

“We _are_ besties, after all,” Prompto says.

“Besties…” Noctis’s brow furrows.

The slideshow continues, featuring more hiking, more posing, and more selfies—now including the four of them. The most exciting video is their encounter with a catoblepas—all of them get much closer than expected.

“Holy shit,” Noctis says, “you mean to tell me I met a dinosaur or whatever the fuck that is?”

“Darn tootin’,” says Prompto. “We were all champs about it.”

In the video, all of them are in various states of whisper-yelling: _“Fuck, it’s huge!” “Shut up, it’ll hear!” “I want a closer look!” “You’re gonna get us killed!” “Silence, all of you!” “Where’s my damn DSLR?” “You’re really gonna—at a time like—”_ The video cuts out, presumably so that Prompto can take the majestic shots that follow.

“ _That’s_ the thing that convinced ya go to the wetlands,” Gladiolus says.

“It wasn’t my idea?” Noctis asks.

“Nah, it was mine. You didn’t care for wetlands, even if there was good fishin’. But we toldja there’d be dinosaurs, and the kid in ya came right out.”

“I was the baby in this scenario,” Prompto said, “but I’m _so_ glad we went. Well, except for the part where all of us got hurt and we lost ya for ten years…”

“It’s okay, guys,” Noctis says. “I’m here now. Kind of.”

“Are you really not remembering all of this?”

Noctis watches as his youthful self struggles to cut through some vines obstructing the path. Gladiolus joins in, followed by Ignis—Ignis, with his hair so spiky, seemingly unaffected by the humidity of the region, hiking in what appeared to be a blazer and fine-pressed collared shirt.

Noctis sits upright. “Wait, why are you hiking in such nice clothes?”

“I must admit I prepared poorly for that trip,” Ignis replies, “but the clothes proved no obstruction to the hike, and they are well-made to withstand the elements as well.”

“Dude.” Noctis rubs where his beard used to be.

“Noct,” Prompto says. “I mean, Ater!”

“No,” Noctis replies, finally answering. “It’s just…”

Strangers. In the video, they are _such_ strangers. Even he doesn’t look like himself, not quite. He can tell why Prompto made the “babies” remark. His eyes had looked less tired. Ignis’s face hadn’t borne those subtle marks on his nose and lip. Even Gladio’d had fewer scars, though he appeared to still be the beast of a man he is today.

It is all new to him. Not even the faintest hint of memory stirs in the back of his mind.

His eyes dim with sadness.

“Hey, pal, it’s okay.” Prompto places a hand on his shoulder. “Just thought you’d like to see our escapades. I can turn it off if you want.”

“No, leave it on,” Noctis says, though his sadness is apparent. “This is good for me to see. It does make it seem real. Like I really did exist before… _back then_. I’m sorry, though.”

“No need to apologize,” Ignis says. “After all, it’s not your fault.”

Noctis leans lightly against Ignis, shoulder-to-shoulder, as he sighs his frustration. “I know, but…”

“If it takes ten more years, or even more, we will be at your side when your memories decide to make their way back.”

Noctis smiles genuinely at Ignis. “Thanks.”

That smile hosts all the appreciation Noctis held in his heart, for Ignis had shown him no contempt and no judgment from the moment they “met”. All there had been is acceptance of the situation and aid to improve it. Even if his memories are still distant, his heart has grown. Usually, this heart-fullness, alien to him, feels _wrong_ somehow, but on this night, he welcomes it, allows it to warm him.

…

The reel gradually calms, as Prompto had recorded even the downtime of their fateful trip. Something about viewing a steady campfire relaxes Noctis, and he begins to doze against Ignis’s arm.

Ignis is loath to move at all, and he cannot doze himself. Not with Noctis right next to him. Not like this. His beating heart would give him away, a heart that swells when he sees Noctis so at peace. Like that trip so long ago, moonlight on black lashes, out in the open, no canopy, beneath billions of stars, such as his prince was named.

How he admires him.

…

Gladiolus’s sneeze wakes everyone up past midnight, just as four friends had found a perfect zen in the midst of their busy lives.

As the men leave for the night, Ignis lingers in the hallway.

“Ater, you should come over to my place this weekend,” he says, looping his scarf once more around his neck. “I have a robust kitchen, and I’d like to show you how my favorite meal is prepared. Or we may have mother-and-child again—we’ll see what we’re in the mood for.”

“Sounds good,” Noctis says, without missing a beat.

Ignis nods with a smile. “Well then. Good evening.”

⚜

It is only two days until the weekend—two days for Noctis to mentally prepare for this meeting.

He cannot deny that he _saw_ something there in Ignis’s eyes, that cloud of seafoam green beneath thick lashes—something to which he needs to get closer.

He leans over to his cat, who rests comfortably with her litter on her kitten mat. “It’s all going to be fine, right?”

She slow blinks at him.

…

Noctis shows up at Ignis’s door in a more relaxed version of his work ensemble. He is embarrassed about not having another “nice” set of clothing right until Ignis opens his door.

The intimidation, gone; the fear, gone, when he looks into Ignis’s welcoming eyes. Hardly another detail about him stands out. The size of Ignis’s house threatens to make him feel small even as it swallows him up through its small threshold, but Ignis walks with him in tandem. His eyes are filled with a sweetness that betrays his usual stoic countenance. 

“Did you see the moon tonight?” Ignis asks as he leads Noctis down a fine hallway that put his own home’s entrance to shame. “So bright, it’s practically daytime.”

“I’d say it’s a good thing I’m not a werewolf,” Noctis started with a smirk, “but maybe I forgot.”

“That would certainly be a surprise to us all.” Ignis smiled and took Noctis’s coat, stowing it in the hallway closet.

Noctis passively perceives the details of the house as Ignis guides him, a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, toward the kitchen. High vaulted ceilings, a fireplace, what appears to be a small gym, and bookshelves wherever bookshelves will fit. None of it surprised him. This is a house perfectly suited to the man Ignis Scientia, knowledgeable and fastidious and strong.

“You know, I quite enjoy the mother-and-child dish we made last time,” Ignis says. “I’d fancy giving that a go again.”

“If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?”

“Well, if I’m being truthful, a Tenebraean Truffle—though that’s a bit out of my league. I would settle for a mirror cake, but baking isn’t my strong suit.”

“No way—I bet you could,” Noctis says.

“We’ll just have to see what happens. Last time I baked was chaos…but the good kind.”

…

Cooking with Noctis _is_ chaos. _Absolute_ chaos.

He does everything out of order, even when Ignis recites their steps slowly, and he has obviously never operated any cooking equipment before—it’s nearly dangerous.

It’s the most fun Ignis has had in years.

And the undeniable magnetism, the gravitation between the two of them, increases steadily, in brushes of bodies as they pass each other in tight spaces, in accidental touches as they both grab for the same utensils and tools, as their faces linger just in front of the glowing oven.

Getting hotter.

…

Unlike their previous dining experiences, Noctis savors the meal that they’ve cobbled together. It seems as though something has changed with Noctis since they last saw each other, and really since they had reunited; there is a presence of mind that hadn’t been with him before, before his apartment was cleaned, before his life had expanded. That decade-long fatigue lingers in his eyes, but there’s also hope, a hope that glints up into Ignis’s own eyes as they converse.

“It really is better this time,” Noctis says. “Is it the tools? Surely I didn’t help it any.”

“This is going to sound awfully cliche,” Ignis says, “but I do believe the ‘love’ factor applies. It’s what my mother would have said, anyhow. Good meals are well taken care of.”

Noctis smiles. “Really? I feel like I was abusing the chicken a bit.”

“Hens are more robust than you would think.”

The moon’s glow creates a perfect ambiance through the window of a dining room set for two. It has risen higher in the sky, but it still casts its glow on the men’s faces; Ignis’s candles hardly compete.

“One moment,” Ignis says, rising momentarily to approach what seemed, to Noctis, like a tiny refrigerator on the far side of the dining room. He withdraws from it a nice, dark wine bottle, grabbing a pair of wine glasses on his way back. “I thought we should celebrate this occasion,” he says. “You’ve come a long way.”

“I don’t really feel like it,” Noctis says, rubbing his neck. “Are you sure?” Little did he want Ignis to waste a good bottle on him.

“I think a good bit of red is appropriate for the moment.” Setting their glasses, he pours a bit for both of them, setting the bottle a little to the side.

Noctis takes his glass and sips a little. “Not bad.”

“A merlot from 706, the birth year of our previous king.”

“Whoa!” Noctis sets his glass down. “You _sure_ I should be drinking this? It’s, like, special.”

“ _This_ is special,” Ignis says with a small wink. “Besides, what better opportunity is there to celebrate than time spent with a good friend?”

“Right.” Noctis picks up the glass again to scent the wine. Drinking really isn’t his thing, but a bit of wine with dinner seems to be nourishing in some way. He buries a light blush by holding the cup up to his mouth and sipping as slowly as possible. Ignis lifts the bottle to offer more, and Noctis holds his glass out to him.

“Say when.”

“When!” It has only been a few seconds.

Ignis chuckles, placing the bottle down. “Do you know what they’ve named this full moon?”

Noctis picks up one of their faux-truffles. “What? They name all of them?”

“Indeed. This is the ‘Honey Moon’.”

Noctis chortles. “Who comes up with this stuff?”

Ignis watches as Noctis nibbles on their truffle with a look of satisfaction. “Indeed.”

…

When their meal is over, they retreat to Ignis’s cozy living room, where he puts on Noctis’s formerly favorite movie. Though they both enjoy it, sinking into the comfort of Ignis’s leather couch, they can’t help but find themselves both distracted and talkative.

“I guess it has been lonely,” Noctis says during a quiet scene. “Didn’t really realize it until now. For a while, I didn’t even have Specky… Didn’t have anything to look forward to.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that,” says Ignis, scooting slightly closer to Noctis. “Truly.”

“I thought I’d just be a burden to everyone, but then you came along.”

“You are never a burden to me.”

Noctis glances over at Ignis, face soft, eyes full of doubt. “Ignis, I get that we’re friends, but why would you do all of this for me?”

“‘All of this?’ I have only done what any true friend would do for another.”

“People here…they don’t care so much about each other. At least, it’s hard to pierce the veil of unfamiliarity, you know? Everyone’s caught up in their own shit. Even if they are friends already. You…” Noctis pauses, eyes dark with contemplation. “How close were we, exactly?”

For the first time, Ignis glances away from Noctis. “Um.”

“Ignis.” Noctis grins, inching closer. “You like me, don’t you?”

“I—” Ignis clears his throat, his words catching.

Noctis settles in right beside him. “Ignis, I may not have my memories, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

They both turn to face each other, faces lit by the cool hue of the television in the dimmed room.

“Ater, there is yet much for you to know.”

“I think I know everything I need to know at the moment.”

Noctis presses a hand on Ignis’s lap, lifting himself slightly to hover just at Ignis’s lips. When Ignis doesn’t close the gap, he peeks his eyes open momentarily to find Ignis’s green eyes hesitant yet darkened with lust. Noctis decides to close the gap for him.

There’s a brief moment’s gasp between them before Ignis goes for a second kiss. He revels in how Noctis’s lips are soft and warm in the midst of his stubble.

When he draws back again, he takes in Ignis’s mildly shocked expression. “What?”

“Ater.”

Noctis chuckles. “You think you know everything about me, don’t you?”

“Perhaps not _everything_ ,” Ignis answers. “Care to surprise me, then?”

 _Oh my gods_ , Noctis thinks. _What am I doing?_

Noctis crawls onto Ignis’s lap, his weight bearing down on him as Ignis places his hands on his waist. Noctis wastes no time in pulling him in for another kiss, holding his face gently as he does so. Yet Ignis can feel him slowing down after barely a minute of this.

“Ater?” Ignis says as they breathe. “Something the matter?”

Noctis seems to have deflated somewhat, eyes downcast as his long locks dangle in his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I was bluffing.”

Ignis chuckles—no hint of derision, only understanding. “But I believe you’re on the right track. In fact, in this position, you should surely know.”

Noctis blushes, feeling Ignis pressing more into him with every passing second. “Yeah, but… All I could ever do is disappoint you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Really?”

Ignis smiles. “You could never disappoint me. Even after all this time—even without your memories—you’re still _you_.”

Noctis still can’t bring himself to look at Ignis, a wry sarcasm on his face. “You're in love with someone I can't even remember.”

“No, I'm in love with _you_. Look at what you've become…”

“An almost-penniless, garbage-hoarding salaryman.” In spite of these words, Noctis can feel a blush spreading throughout his body, because of Ignis.

“A kind, gentle, caring, and honest man. The man I always knew you were. _Anything_ could have happened to you, but here you’ve been, leading an honest life. And here you are now, beside me again.”

Noctis locks eyes with Ignis when the man touches his head softly where his scar is. He hates being touched there, usually, but Ignis’s touch is light, warm, almost healing. It helps center his mind. It helps him breathe. He realizes that Ignis can probably feel his heart beating, as he can most assuredly feel Ignis’s pulse.

Their lips meet again.

And as they kiss, Noctis finds himself rocking his hips gently into Ignis’s lap. He allows Ignis to begin undressing him, unbuttoning his shirt to the chest, breaking away from Noctis’s lips only to kiss along the newly-exposed flesh. Noctis’s lips, already usually tinged with pink, only redden more as his skin begins to flush. Ignis listens to his quickening breath as he continues to unbutton and kiss, unbutton and kiss.

Until Noctis stops him.

Ignis looks up again. “Something wrong?”

“I, um.” Noctis’s eyes flit away to the side, avoiding Ignis’s concerned gaze. “You know, I looked pretty fit in those old photos and stuff, and, uh. I wanted to let you know that I’m…not exactly that fit anymore.”

After a chuckle, Ignis kisses Noctis’s warming lips again and unbuttons the last buttons, parting the shirt to reveal the low-cut undershirt beneath. He catches the bottom of the undershirt with his thumb and lifts it slowly as he slides his hand up Noctis’s abdomen. It is pleasantly soft and virtually hairless, muscles flinching beneath Ignis’s gentle touch. It is also covered in scars, many short and a few raised; none quite as large as the old scar that Noctis bore from his childhood, but all quite visible.

Noctis pulls his shirt off so that Ignis can finish peeling off the undershirt. He shudders when Ignis keeps running his hand down his torso, flicking a nipple as his hand passes over it. Noctis enjoys it so audibly that Ignis can’t help but grin.

“You’re already enjoying this quite a lot, hmm?” Ignis says, lightly thumbing Noctis’s nipple.

“Mm-hmm,” Noctis pants, pressing himself more into Ignis.

Neither of them has ever gotten this sort of attention in their lives. Both are already eager. Noctis slides his lips into Ignis’s again while Ignis unbuttons his own shirt and throws it to the side. They keep kissing as Ignis takes his hands to the rim of Noctis’s pants, deft fingers making their way to the fly. Noctis breathes a sigh of relief as he is freed, the bulge in his underwear poking through. Ignis carefully undoes himself as well.

“You’re about ready to burst,” he says, thinking to tease Noctis’s nipples a little more as he squirms in his lap.

“S-sorry,” Noctis stammers, nonetheless attempting more to press their bulges together.

“No need to apologize. No need to hold back.” Ignis frees them both fully, then taking one of Noctis’s hands to clasp around them both.

Noctis feels their ever-quickening pulses in his grip. Ignis’s girth is, to his surprise, comparable to his own, and he feels nice to hold. “But, lube?”

“Ah, yes.” Ignis pulls the lube out from the couch-side table.

Noctis uses a generous helping of it to pleasure themselves as he locks lips with Ignis again. Ignis’s lips—perfect bows that curve into his own—come forth with just the right amount of bite to them, and Noctis enjoys how Ignis breathes into each kiss.

“Ignis…”

Ignis runs his smooth palms up and down Noctis’s back as Noctis continues stroking them. The ridges of Noctis’s scars continue, and Ignis enjoys the tactile sensation of gliding his hands over them. Noctis moans when Ignis threads a hand into the other’s dark locks, massaging the scalp as his own breath becomes shaky. He brings his hand to Noctis’s jaw, only light with stubble, as he feels the fire in his chest build. “You’re utterly gorgeous.”

“A-ah—” Noctis stops abruptly, precome having soaked his hand.

“Ater?”

“Oh, fuck,” Noctis says, voice shuddering and panting. “That was close.”

“You don’t have to hold back.”

Noctis takes a few breaths. “I don’t want it to end yet. I want you to fuck me.”

Ignis feels a tremor run down his spine. How many times has he imagined Noctis saying this, so long ago? Those words, coming from the very mouth of his one true prince? And now they are but moments from this reality.

“Are you even prepped for that?” Ignis manages as Noctis scoots back.

“No,” Noctis says, “but I want us to keep going.” He takes this moment to breathe as he shifts off of Ignis’s lap and stands, helping Ignis up with him. “Bedroom?”

“Upstairs.”

They practically run upstairs, hand-in-hand, kissing again at the top of the stairs, Ignis guiding Noctis step-by-step into his bedroom. Noctis dives with him onto a larger bed than he’s ever seen in memory, and Ignis crawls over him, gazing down at his precious prince as they sink into a lush comforter. They both paw at each other’s pants until they are free of them, shedding the last of their underwear as they grow closer.

Noctis reaches up to remove Ignis’s glasses with a tenderness that moves Ignis’s heart. For a moment, Ignis is convinced he sees a spark of recognition in Noctis’s expression. In his hesitation, Noctis presses himself upwards on his elbows to kiss him and pull him down.

Ignis makes love to Noctis’s body, rubbing against him, lavishing him in kisses—one for every scar—reveling in his squirming and mewling at every peck and tease. Both of them ache for touch, the very sinews of their flesh longing for each other more and more, their sweat and heat unifying them. The dark-haired former prince becomes so emotional that tears begin to roll down the sides of his face.

“Ater, are you alright?” Ignis holds his face gently.

“Don’t stop, please,” Noctis practically pleads.

And Ignis obeys.

Noctis gets so wrapped up in Ignis’s touches, his pecks and nibbles, his voice and breathing, that he reaches his orgasm before Ignis can even attend to his lower half.

“S-sorry,” Noctis breathes as Ignis admires his handiwork. Noctis’s eyes and his body are glistening.

“For what?” Ignis runs smooth fingertips through the warm puddle that had formed on the dip of Noctis’s chest.

Noctis feels like his whole body will turn into a puddle as well. “I wanted you to finish, too.”

“Oh, I’m not done.” As he towers over Noctis, Ignis begins stroking himself, sitting on Noctis’s hips.

Noctis smiles as he watches. “You’re fucking hot, Ignis.”

Ignis smirks, rocking his hips into his hand.

“I kind of want to suck you off, but I don’t really have the experience, you know?”

“Didn’t seem to stop you earlier.” Ignis winks. “It’s okay to start slowly. However you’d like.”

It turns out that Noctis is brave. Mustering the last of his sexual energy, body slick with sweat and aglow, he allows Ignis’s moans of pleasure to guide him as his own shudders of passion continue. He manages to finish Ignis off by wrapping his lips around the head of Ignis’s cock and following Ignis’s cues until he’s able to taste him.

Ignis is all absorbed by Noctis’s beauty, even as his man recoils at the bitter taste. He caresses Noctis’s face, bringing himself closer to him, while Noctis wipes his mouth. “Superb. You are superb, N—Ater.”

“No need to butter me up,” Noctis says with a small cough. “Not at this point, anyway,” he mumbles.

Ignis chuckles, cupping Noctis’s chin. “You glow like the moon. I’m overjoyed that you’re here with me.”

Noctis slips into Ignis’s arms, and they lie down together, Noctis’s lips bearing a genuine smile.


	8. A King

Ignis wakes, still curled around the man beside him. He can hardly recall a time where Noctis had ever slept so peacefully; their sleepovers always involved a lot of tossing and turning, nightmares, avoiding sleep altogether. Well into adulthood, this had kept the prince exhausted almost constantly, and Ignis had found him looking that way as well.

Nightmares. Migraines. But not last night. Hopefully, soon, never again.

Noctis begins to stir, as if he sensed Ignis’s gentle gaze upon him. He’s like a lazy cat even in waking, yawning right in Ignis’s face right before he remembers their situation.

“Oh, hi, Ignis,” he says, unwinding one of his arms from beneath Ignis’s to rub his eyes.

“Morning,” Ignis replies, waiting for Noctis to withdraw his hand so he can touch their foreheads together gently.

Noctis comes in for a kiss—soft, brief.

Looking at him, Ignis’s heart is full; he holds the world in his arms, more than anyone can ever know. No one but him will ever behold his love as he can.

Noctis does some more catlike stretching as Ignis leaves an arm dangled loosely around him.

“Better shower,” Noctis groans, arching his back.

Ignis can feel Noctis’s hardness. “We had better make sure we’re done being dirty first.”

Noctis looks down his body, having just been made aware. “Oh. You up for it?”

“Always.”

Noctis is already blushing when Ignis starts going down on him. Those fine bow-lips fit around Noctis’s member while a finger finds its way to Noctis’s opening, only teasing as he pleasures his squirming lover.

They can’t find the will to leave bed, to get up, to get clean and dressed. After they’ve peaked again, they lie together, sinking deeper together. They’re so comfortable there in their own fluids and in each other’s breath, heartbeats in sync. Time slowly fades into nothing.

When light from the window cuts through Ignis’s eye, Noctis bolts upward suddenly. “Shit! Work!”

Ignis doesn’t move at all. “It’s Sunday. You don’t have a shift today.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Noctis flops back down as Ignis chortles, both of them basking in light glowing from between windowblinds.

“Sorry. I never really had much to look forward to besides work. Not that I look forward to work, but…y’know. It always feels like…” Noctis searches for the words. “Like something bad or _obligatory_ should be coming up?”

Ignis presses his head into Noctis’s shoulder. “You’ve no obligations today.”

Noctis rests his chin atop Ignis’s head. “Good.”

They take a few breaths together, listening to the quietness of Ignis’s home.

Noctis breaks the silence softly. “Tell me something about myself.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything.”

Ignis pauses for a moment, pondering what, of thousands of things, he could bring up first. “You frequently have nightmares.”

Noctis nods. “Yeah.”

“You seldom described them to me, but I remember the last one that you shared with me. It sounded as though it was usual for you to dream of losing loved ones or being harmed.”

Closing his eyes, Noctis nods again. “Pretty much the same now. Without all the loved ones, mind. Though, I lost Specky in my dreams and in real life, too. Or so I’d thought. She was here all along…”

“I am glad you’re able to take care of her properly now. Your love of cats remains true to this day.”

“Did I have a cat?”

“You were never allowed to keep a cat, unfortunately. And once you moved out, you never had time for one.”

“That sucks.”

“I’m afraid I may have been the _indirect_ cause of your lack of cats growing up.”

“What?”

“As I tutored you, I came over quite frequently, and, well…” Ignis snickers. “My allergies exposed a secret you’d been trying to hide from your father. At some point—you were around ten—you had begun taking in stray kittens you found while sneaking out and started hiding them in your room. You were harboring them quite effectively as well: well-fed, access to water and things with which to play, kept out of sight but not cramped. And you had quite a number of them. Around fifteen, in the end.”

“And then?”

“Your father noticed me sneezing profusely during one of our sessions. You were forced to spill the cat beans. I felt truly disappointed when you had to give them away, but you made absolutely sure that each kitten went to a good home.”

“Oh, really?” Noctis is intrigued. He hasn’t thought himself capable of keeping such big secrets or organizing such a thing.

“Yes. It was quite the success, due to your being…well-known in the area.”

Noctis is amused. “How long do you think I could’ve kept up the ruse?”

“Quite a while longer. You were very excited about the kittens, however, and Gladio may have deduced what was happening had you ever let your tongue slip.”

“You’re saying he’d rat me out?”

Ignis grinned. “Believe it or not, Gladio used to not be very fond of you.”

“Really? The guy who almost crushed me to death with a hug? Huh. Maybe that makes sense. Wouldn’t ever want to be on his _bad_ side.” Noctis crosses his arms, still lying on his side. “How’d we become friends, then? All of us, for that matter?”

“Well, Gladiolus’s family are longtime friends of your own. Your father and his father were quite close in their day. My family as well, though not in the same way. And Prompto, you and he became friends in school, though not until you were older. You both share a mutual love of video games and animals.”

Noctis takes a hand, runs it through his hair near his injury. Though he is smiling, his eyes hold a bit of hurt. “Man… I wish I could remember any of this.”

“It’s okay, Ater.”

Noctis squeezes his eyes shut. “I have friends…lifelong friends.”

“Yes, you do.” Ignis takes Noctis’s hand into his. “That’s one thing that won’t change.”

Noctis inches forward to place his lips on Ignis’s.

…

The two of them have their fill of each other in the shower, spurred on by hot droplets of water streaming down their bodies, feeling what they’d felt last night just as intensely.

There is something intensely gratifying for Noctis to have Ignis dry him off, toweling his hair, patting his skin. Only pride wants him to stop—to allow him to function as the independent adult Noctis thinks he should be—but to be so _cared for_ , he would bask in the experience, just as Ignis had basked in the experience of kissing his body. And, of course, Ignis relishes in caring tenderly for Noctis’s needs. Every touch carries the weight of ten years of yearning.

They spend more of the day curled up in warmth, Noctis with his cat loaf on top of him, Ignis with his human stray in his arms.

Ignis can ask for nothing more. It is perfect.

⚜

A day later, at the front desk, Noctis gazes happily down at his phone screen, leaning on his hand, waiting for all the usual _nothing_ at his hotel.

Dino and Coctura stare at him— _especially_ Dino.

“Somethin’s different,” Dino says.

“Yes, _very_ different,” Coctura says.

Noctis is ignoring them completely, lost in a world of _unusual_ happiness.

The other two inch closer to him. Noctis continues to ignore them, even as Dino steadily creeps his gaze over his shoulder.

“I _know_ somethin’ happened this time,” Dino says.

“A man has a right to his privacy,” Coctura says, nonetheless peeping over Noctis’s other shoulder.

Noctis doesn’t turn off his phone; he is only scrolling through photos of Specky and her kittens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He does _not_ sound convincing.

“I can smell it on ya!” Dino gives Noctis an extra-scrutinizing look. “Don’t try to deny it!”

Noctis looks mildly disgusted. “Don’t be gross, man.”

“Was it good? Was it a one-night stand? Was it that rich-lookin’ guy who started showin’ up here lately? Huh?”

“Whoa, dude, you can’t just _ask_ that!” Noctis glares.

“Yeah, Dino, you can’t just ask that,” says Coctura, still leaning in in anticipation.

“Okay, alright, I see what’s happening,” says Noctis, holding his hands up slightly. “Obviously I’m not that transparent, I guess. Yes, no, and yes? The sex was good. Like, _really good_. Like, _world-shatteringly_ good.”

Coctura squeals. “Yes! Finally!”

Noctis raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“You had some serious virgin vibes going, Ater, and we were hoping you’d get laid so you could maybe finally relax a little, have a bit of a, uh. You know.”

Noctis looks perplexed. He shrugs at her.

She gestures. “A life?”

Noctis is confused and taken aback by her strange honesty. “Uh, you _really_ didn’t need to be that concerned for me.”

“Just hope you used a rubber, kid,” Dino says, crossing his arms. “Those rich types don’t like to wrap up.”

“Okay, you know what?” Noctis leans in close to Dino, an annoyed, devilish look appearing on his face. “Maybe I don’t like ‘rubbers’, huh? Maybe the kinds of earth-shattering pleasure I experienced are only achievable without one. Maybe I’m allergic! Who knows! I won’t chance it. Because of the orgasms. The multitudes of them. That I had.”

“Okay, that’s—yeah—you can stop now,” Dino says, backing away.

“What,” Noctis spits, “suddenly you don’t want to hear about the many ways in which I was pleasured?”

Coctura begins to back away as well, and Noctis, with a realization, follows their gaze around to a customer before him.

Noctis clears his throat. His voice cracks nonetheless. “Hi—welcome to Best Eastern Bob K. Treat Hotel. How may I be of service?”

The old woman squints up at him. “Are you new here?”

“I, um—I’ve worked here for, like, a year?”

“No one has ever asked me how they could help me here. Wait… That boy with the raven hair—that’s you?” She stands on tip-toes to try to get a closer look at him, leaning against the counter. “I make business stops in Insomnia regularly, and it’s always the same faces here.”

Noctis has a realization, rubbing his chin of only light stubble. “Oh. I, uh, shaved? Also, I’m very sorry.”

“For what?”

“Er, nothing.” Noctis hides his embarrassment poorly. “Would you like a room?”

“Yes—one night, please.”

Noctis slides over to his computer. “Wise choice.” He mumbles under his breath, “Good thing the ghosts never got you.”

“And could you help me with my bags, _handsome_?”

Noctis blushes slightly. “Sure thing.”

⚜

Ignis’s days were typically bookended by stress.

News had gotten out that King Regent Ardyn Izunia has his hand directly in muddy waters, those of deep Lucian tradition and matters with the Empire. Though the citizenry generally accepts his leadership over none, many are still unwilling to accept this black sheep into the deep history of the realm, or to watch him steer the ship of a formerly unbroken royal line. As it had been with Ignis, that wound on Lucis has yet to heal.

It is such that it makes Ignis’s blood pressure rise whenever he hears anything about it. Because, of course, this King Regent is also taking many _independent actions_ and acting of his own accord—so mysteriously quickly that Ignis thinks some dark, ancient magic must be at play. As far-fetched as this thought is, there is little else for him to consider. And he is always left to clean up behind him. Working as an advisor sometimes means working public relations as well.

Even Noctis has noticed the political buzz in the news. It inevitably comes up when Noctis has Ignis over to his place again.

“Ignis,” Noctis says as he flips through the cookbook his date had brought with him, “this week at work’s been wild. Old ladies are, like, hitting on me. You know, old people are our biggest demographic. Our cheap-ass hotel is great for fixed incomes.”

Ignis smirks, turning away from the cupboards to face Noctis. “Clean-shaven faces were the ‘in’ thing for the older generation back in their day.”

“Is that so…” Thinking about it, Noctis still feels embarrassed. He had blended in with the background so effortlessly for the past decade, but now…

“I think your father set the new trend with facial hair.”

Noctis pauses. “Who was my father, exactly? What did he do?”

“Ah, yes,” Ignis stalls, “your father, he also worked in the government, had a lot of reach, you see.”

Noctis rubs his chin. “Hmm. Did we get cumin?”

“It should be in the cabinet to your far left.”

The cumin is retrieved. “What would he have thought about all this… _stuff_ going on?”

“He would challenge it all for certain. He had been known for making necessary yet unpopular decisions. He possessed a knack for true leadership. I often keep in mind what he’d shared with me whenever I have to make decisions myself.”

“Like what?”

“Like… ‘Walk tall.’”

…

Curled up on the couch, they share a meal of stew while making themselves cozy.

“You’ve really come a long way,” Ignis says, savoring the stew’s flavor.

“Yeah?” Noctis smiles.

“You always were a fast learner and a driven individual…as long as you knew you were doing good. It’s no wonder you’ve taken to so much change so quickly.”

“It’s nice to be supported.”

Ignis nods as Noctis leans into him. “Mm.”

Noctis would be purring if he could. “I really do feel like things are _right_.”

“You were just waiting for us.” He takes one of Noctis’s hands. “For me.”

Noctis leans to kiss Ignis, quickly and simply.

“Ater, we haven’t even finished our food.”

Noctis touches Ignis’s face. “My appetite has changed.”

Ignis smiles into Noctis’s hand. “After you said you wanted to ‘repay’ my meal.”

“I’ll _still_ be repaying you.”

He leans into Noctis. “I don’t like that word. I would do _anything_ for you regardless.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Noctis sets their food properly to the side. “Then let’s go. I’m ready this time.”

…

Ignis takes it upon himself to test Noctis’s limits; he wishes to bring Noctis to his peak once again without even touching down below. The way Noctis acts as he kisses along the muscles of his arms and shoulders, one can think his entire body is an erogenous zone. Perhaps Noctis is the kind of person who gets _very_ turned on once they’re at that point. Whatever the explanation, Ignis takes advantage of it fully, licking and biting softly at sensitive parts until he nearly erupts, then leaving him to cool off for some moments. Sensuous, rapturous, torturous moments sprawled out on the couch.

It takes them a little bit until they find a position they mutually enjoy and a rhythm they both flow into naturally. They find each other side-by-side, one on top of the other, flipping, all the while lips grabbing for each other’s and hands gently seeking purchase. Ignis winds up holding Noctis’s hips while he thrusts into him, Noctis all the while trying and failing not to cry out in ecstasy, especially as Ignis plants kisses along his neck. Noctis holds onto the couch cushions for dear life as his calls spur Ignis further to spear him from behind.

Then, he hears it:

“Come for me, dear Ater.”

Noctis’s release is shaky and explosive, legs barely able to keep himself up, and mostly braced by Ignis’s grip. He swears in his mind that he could surge yet again after feeling Ignis come inside of him.

…

They never finish their stew.

Instead, lying face-to-face, they talk deep into the night.

“Ignis, you’re so…”

“So _what_? Debonair? Ravishing? Nerdy?”

“Have I ever called you any of those things before?”

“ _One_ of them.”

“I was _going_ to say ‘attentive’. You, I dunno… You’re really tuned in to me. I’d say it might be a tad obsessive, but I like it.”

“If I’m breathing down your neck, I can back off.”

“Like I said, I _like_ it.”

“You’ll have to understand, some days I really came close to…” Ignis drifts off, unspoken words hanging in his throat unable to make it past his tongue for a moment more. “I almost gave up on you.” Ignis’s expression sours. “It brings me great shame to say that.”

“Hey, man, ten years is a lot. I wouldn’t blame you. But you didn’t give up, did you? Somehow, you still found me.” Noctis squeezes Ignis’s hand. “You’ve cared for me in the here and now, too. It’s not even like you’re trying to impose the past on me, which I think would be pretty easy for most. I appreciate that.” He smiles. “You gave me strength when I was afraid. I still don’t know who I might become, but I know you’ll care, no matter what happens.”

“I feel as though I should tell you why it pained me so, that you had been taken away from us.”

“Huh? Isn’t it because we were together?”

“Not quite.” Ignis sits up slightly against their pillows, Noctis sitting up with him. “On the second day of our trip, we suffered a kayaking accident. I tried to keep you from being pulled into the rushing waters, but neither of us could keep our grip as debris pulled you away from me. And, before an uprooted tree took you away, you looked straight into my eyes.”

Ignis pauses. He breathes.

_Noctis looks into Ignis’s eyes, lips mouthing words that nearly melt into the cacophony of noise as he slips away._

  
  


_“I love you.”_

“At that time, in that moment,” Ignis says, “you told me that you loved me.”

_Ignis screams as Noctis falls away from him. His mind is blank and chaos; his body acts on instinct. He lunges forward, feet ready to propel himself into the void, when something catches him, an unseen branch from a rocky outcropping. He continues to scream and struggle as the rushing tree takes Noctis as swiftly as it had appeared. His thrashing manages to free him no sooner than two pairs of arms wrap around his limbs and torso, pulling him back from the brink._

_“Noct! No! Noct! Save Noct!”_

“It meant that you and I had _both_ been harboring feelings for one another in silence for…who knows how long. Weeks. Years. Since the day we met. And yet…”

_A horrible silence settles over the great forest as the trio seek for Noctis at the bottom of the waterfall, nothing but their lives in tow. Without access to the Armiger, and with no Noctis in sight, it seems as if it all is lost._

_Three days later, Ardyn Izunia, the new heir, officially calls off the Kingsglaive’s search for Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. The days following that—a funeral without a body, a coronation, a sharp and swift political restructuring of Lucis—are the most difficult in Ignis’s life._

“I, of yet, have been unable to return the sentiment.”

_Ignis Scientia, ripped up inside, still does not give up._

_His friends do not allow him to revisit “that dangerous place”, but still he goes alone._

_His eyes ever seek Noctis in every crowd, in every store corner, in every cab._

_Those eyes had finally found him in the subway._

_Love conquers fear._

“Well,” Noctis says, “it feels like you’ve already said ‘I love you’ to me. I mean…” He brings their faces closer together. “Look at us.”

“Yes.” Ignis smiles. He will endure any hardship if it means they can be together in the end. “Look at us.”

“Hey, not to suddenly be morbid, but did you all have, like, a funeral for me? Or anything like that?”

“There was a funeral,” Ignis says, voice heavy. “Everyone was quite broken up—the Princess in particular. Like us, she and her retainer were wounded.”

“Wait—hold on, back up there. Princess?”

Ignis goes expressionless. “Oh. The Princess. Of. Tenebrae.”

“Uh, why was a princess at my funeral?”

“Friend of the family?” Technically, it was not a lie.

Sitting more upright, Noctis looks Ignis dead in the eye with a familiar expression. It is the “You’re Hiding Something from Me” expression, one rarely seen on Noctis, and quite distinct. Ignis has only ever hidden one other thing from Noctis, and that is his surprise birthday gathering at age sixteen. He will never make such a mistake again.

Ignis drags himself upright, leaning lightly against the thin railing of Noctis’s bed’s headboard. “Ater, I love you, truly, because of the person you’ve been, the person you are, and the person you will be. I will be at your side no matter what comes.”

“I always kind of had the feeling I wouldn’t be able to get rid of you.” Noctis’s eyes retain sharp _expectation_.

“You are the heir to the throne, the only son of King Regis Lucis Caelum, the One True King of Lucis. You are Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

After a long pause, wheels in his head churning in place, Noctis finally speaks. “I… Is that why you kept saying I look like my dad?” Noctis rubs his stubbly chin, staring into the middle distance. “Oh Shiva, I _do_ look like the former king, sort of.” Noctis, who starts off looking incredulous, begins to sweat. “That _would_ explain why all of you work at the Citadel…” He looks at Ignis again. “But you’re being serious?”

Ignis nods. Not that he needed to; his expression defies any hint of jest or mocking.

“You can’t—this—this is crazy.” Noctis slaps his hands into the bed. “What have I been the prince of for so long? Garbage?”

“You are who you are, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Me… The prince that went missing…” Noctis stares blankly again. Ignis fears that he may have short-circuited.

“I will admit our country desperately needs a king—a _real_ king—but I would be content to just have you to myself. Excuse me for saying so, but I am being honest.”

“What should I do?” Noctis looks down at the sheets below him. “What do I even… _How_?”

“I don’t expect you to do _anything_ without your memories. Just…” Ignis sighs. “Be mine.”

Ater backs away from Ignis. “I-I’m freaking out.”

“Noctis.”

“No. No, you’re right. I…I can’t do anything right now. You’re telling me I’m _royalty_? Some kind of king? I’ve got to think about all this.”

“Let me help you—it’s my job, after all. I’m your—”

“No, I—I want to be alone.” Noctis continues shrinking away from him, hiding himself in pillows and drawing his knees into his chest.

“Noct!”

“I’m not ‘Noct’ right now, alright?” Noctis snaps, turning back to Ignis for a moment. “I might never be ‘Noct’ again! I can’t deal with all this right now— _I don’t want to._ ”

“But—”

“ _Please leave_.”

Noctis pulls the covers over himself and doesn’t budge another inch.

…

Ignis hesitates in the bitter cold outside of Noctis’s apartment door, clutching his fists.

“Fuck.”


	9. Warm

When Noctis visits his doctor, nothing has changed.

Brushing aside the hair aside his old wound, settling into a hard, metal seat, Noctis sighs. “I mean, Doc, is it completely hopeless?”

It’s always the same spiel. “When you first came to us, your wounds had already set. It might have been different if someone had gotten to you in time, but the physicality and the untreated duration of your injury means your memories were destroyed. This is likely irreversible. I could recommend another MRI, but I know you’ve shared concerns about the cost.”

Noctis stresses out, fiddling with his long hair as he keeps running his hands through it..

The doctor places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a true miracle you were able to keep so much brain function and avoid deep infection. You should look on the bright side.”

“I guess.” Noctis’s mind seeks any glimmer of hope.

His doctor begins pacing a bit in the cramped exam room. “You _may_ still enter therapy for memory recovery if you like, but…”

“The cost, yeah. Ugh.” Noctis’s grin is wry. “How about you cut me a deal, Doc? For all you know, I could be a king or something…”

The doctor blinks. “It’s likely we can’t even repair the neural bridges to your memories at this point—they would have been obliterated. Your accident is unfortunate in that way. I would recommend seeking a therapist for your anxiety, at the very least.”

Noctis clutches his hair in his fists, looking down at the floor. It isn’t just that this injury had taken away his memories: the issue had cascaded into a deep pit of depression and waves of ennui that he apparently has not crawled up out of, even despite the way he’d felt just days ago—the good things that have been happening to him.

Happiness. He had really felt _happy_. He had felt a _lot_ of things, actually. All things he had forgotten. The meaning of being alive. Reasons to exist.

Ignis probably had noticed all these deficiencies in him, or so he thinks. _Ignis notices everything._ He feels he is but a shell of a man; the man so loved and revered and sought after by his friends has been lost to time.

 _Why did I have to meet him? Why did he_ ever _find me?_ Resentment begins to build up in his chest, and he grits his teeth, breathing through them. _Life was just fine as it was, going through the motions. I was alive, right? Got my place, got my TV… Got my cat, sort of… So what if I was going nowhere? At least I wasn’t going to disappoint anyone!_

He thinks about Ignis grabbing his clothes and swiftly departing from his room, of him hesitating in the hallway as he dons his coat. He remembers listening to Ignis hesitate, the rustling of cloth and jingling of keys having come to a halt.

He thinks about having called out to him: _“Ignis, if I, as the prince, asked you never to see me again, what would you do?”_

_“Ater.”_

_“Answer me. Honor or duty?”_

_“You know I can’t leave your side.”_

_“You don’t really love me.”_

Noctis had been unable to hear a small gasp, nor the hurt in his eyes. He had only heard the front door shut behind him.

Noctis had already disappointed himself.

_A new low._

“Ater? Mister Somnambula?”

_Noctis Lucis Caelum._

Noctis shakes his head, finally looking up. “Wha—?”

“Are you going to be okay? Should I help set you up with a referral?”

“No. Er, I mean, yes. Yes, I’m fine. Yeah, set me up. Wait, do you know Dr. Quen? A friend of mine actually recommended them, so…”

⚜

A week ago, Ignis had sat down with Prompto and Gladiolus and tea to explain what happened.

“What the hell, man,” Prompto says, as expected, tossing his arms out to the side and nearly knocking over Gladiolus’s tea. “I thought we weren’t trying to force it! It was your idea not to tell him anything in the first place.”

“I know,” Ignis sighs, unable to look up from his cup.

“S’not his fault,” Gladiolus says, picking up and turning his teacup in his hands. “It was inevitable from the moment they met.”

“Nonetheless, I did cock this one right up,” Ignis says, leaning low on his elbow, tea getting cold. “Noctis may never return to us, now.”

“It’s not like he’s gonna keep away forever, though, right?” says Prompto.

“He don’t really have many other options,” Gladiolus says. “Or _any_ other options, really.” He takes a sip of his lapsang souchong.

Ignis sighs again, pulling out his phone.

No new messages.

…

After a week of silence, pushed to the brink by political affairs and his friends’ concern, Ignis can bear it no longer. Hunched over a coffee and a desk full of notes, he pulls Noctis up on his phone and sends a text. He wants to call, but he knows Noctis is much more likely to answer a text, if he answers at all.

He hesitates. What to say? Something simple? Something elaborate? An apology? Yet, for what would Ignis apologize?

_Something simple, then._

_“Ater,”_ he writes, _“how are you? Are you doing any better?”_

Ignis expects to wait hours before Noctis returns his message, but his reply comes just a few minutes later in multiple lines:

_“mm.”_

_“bedridden.”_

_“sore.”_

_“help,”_

…

Ignis is at Noctis’s home in no time, touting every kind of medicine and soup ingredients he can obtain on short notice. Noctis’s door is unlocked, and when he enters, he can immediately see hints of trash beginning to pile up again, as well as a subtle yet unpleasant odor. When he finds Noctis in his room, he can tell without even feeling directly that he is running a fever. Noctis has that look of deep exhaustion that, despite everything, he only wears when he is truly sick.

He barely looks over to Ignis, phone lying weakly under his hand.

“Ater,” Ignis speaks, walking to Noctis’s bedside and lightly brushing his messy locks out of his eyes. “I’m here now. Don’t worry about anything.”

Noctis closes his eyes.

The advisor allows him to rest as he returns to the kitchen to cook.

…

Noctis must not have eaten in quite some time. Weak, Ignis has to help him sit up and spoon-feed him medicine and soup as Noctis struggles to breathe through his nostrils. His temperature isn’t high enough to be taken to the hospital, but he’s seriously teetering on the edge of consciousness, kept up by hunger.

Admittedly, Noctis still did not have many ready-to-make-and-eat meals in his fridge; he and Ignis had been cooking meals, and Ignis had even been discouraging microwave meals, including some of the better ones. Stores of Iris’s casseroles, hand-delivered by Gladio, could only last so long.

The weak prince looks better immediately after he’s done eating, which brings Ignis some hope, a tiny slice of peace.

“Ater,” Ignis says, brushing Noctis’s hair behind his ear, dabbing his sweaty brow. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Noctis’s voice cracks; it is a gossamer whisper of wind. “S’not your fault I got caught in the rain without an umbrella.”

Ignis purses his lips, continuing to dab Noctis’s face.

Noctis lets loose a dry laugh. “‘m too stupid to be king.”

“Save your strength.”

“Just sayin’ the truth.”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. You don’t need to be a king right now. Just rest.”

Noctis blinks slowly. Off in the corner of his bedroom, Specky also blinks slowly.

As Ignis wipes Noctis’s temple, a tear streams down Noctis’s cheek, followed by another. Ignis tries to wipe them away quickly.

“I’m tired…”

“Rest.”

“I’m tired of being nothing, _nobody_. I, I want to help… I want to be that person you look at with such love in your eyes.” Noctis, delirious and tearful, sobs into Ignis’s hand. Unable to breathe clearly, he coughs as Ignis brings him into a soft embrace.

Ignis lies down with Noctis, stroking his hair gently to try to soothe him. Sickness be damned, he will be beside Noctis to help bear his sorrow.

…

As Noctis finally succumbs to slumber, he does not have nightmares. He instead feels warm vignettes of the family that had formed around him.

⚜

Prompto and Gladiolus are under strict orders to find the Old Glaive in the highest amount of secrecy. Their proximity to the crown is so great that they are always under scrutiny; but if they can, so far, hide their “dead” prince, they can foment a coup as well.

Thankfully, finding them in Little Galahd is no real challenge, nor is keeping quiet. The three friends are, at this point, nearly inseparable, and they are every bit as Kingsglaive as the day they were dissolved.

Prompto pays at the counter of a Little Galahdan dive. “Two orders of Malbo Smul.”

Even the toughest gangs know to keep away from Yamachang’s most well-known and difficult dish. At nine-thirty PM, on a Thursday, it flushes the old heads out like water from a blocked drain.

Prompto isn’t seated long before long, slender fingers reach down to ruffle his chocobo feather hair.

“Well, aren’t you a sight down here,” a silky-voiced woman says, pulling away her hand and sitting in the empty chair at the table behind him. “Sunshine’s back.”

“Crowe, nothing ever changes,” says Prompto with a smile.

Gladiolus looks to his side to see Nyx and Libertus making their way over. He stands to do a fun handshake with Nyx and chest bump with Libertus. “Nyx, Lib. You all are a sight for sore eyes. You bastards keepin’ warm down here?”

“Like sewer rats,” says Nyx.

“Something must’ve gone really tits-up for you to come to us today,” Crowe says as everyone else sits.

“Actually, we’re on the cusp of something _good_ ,” says Prompto. “ _Real_ good. How’s ‘one last job’ sound?”

“Depends,” says Libertus. “What’s the job?”

“Well. You guys want your old jobs back?”

⚜

Ardyn’s tendrils are in nearly everything, but he has more than enough help in covering his blind spots. After all, in every regime, there are always those willing to appease the Highest, so long as their reward is secure.

And he can have secret meetings, too. In fact, he can have them in plain day.

At the height of the throne room, he accepts a thin parcel from a man dressed in white.

“My good doctor, you’ll be kept well, so long as I remain on the throne,” Ardyn says, slick voice dripping like oil. He begins opening the envelope with a cautious yet mounting glee. “Today, you do your _rightful_ king the highest act of service.”

From inside the envelope, Ardyn removes a photo print of a distraught-looking young man with long, black hair, blue eyes peeking from beneath the dark mess. A sick smile curls his lips upward, slowly, gradually distorting his face.

“Yes. Good.” Without looking away from the photo, Ardyn extends his hand to shake the doctor’s.

The doctor clasps hands with Ardyn, only to scream as something dark begins to burble and burst from his skin, leading up the arm to the rest of his body in a flash. The darkness turns to ash and fizzles into the aether without Ardyn looking up even once. He practically coos at the photo:

“Ah, nephew. How little you’ve changed.”


	10. Awake

They say that only love has the power to heal.

In a matter of days, Noctis is up and about again. Not only that: he’s active and doing things he normally wouldn’t without being prompted. Scheduling appointments, cleaning, even reading the articles he has saved on his phone instead of skimming headlines. Ignis wants him to continue resting, but seeing him act with such vigor does his heart good.

On a sunny winter day, Ignis’s new suggestion seems to come out of nowhere.

“Ater, you deserve a proper vacation. The city can suck the soul out of you sometimes. A weekend at the Quay would make you feel much better.”

To his surprise, Noctis does not resist the idea. “That _does_ sound good,” he says, leaning forward in bed. “Get out, change things up a little.”

“Really? You’re not afraid?”

“Afraid? Nah. I’ll be there with you. Besides, I feel like life kind of owes me a vacation right about now.”

“Yes, a vacation debt of ten years is quite steep.”

“The Quay, huh…” Noctis envisions what he’s only seen online, picturesque shores at an eternal dusk.

“You’ve never visited, but it is an old favorite destination of the family.”

Noctis nods. “When are you thinking?”

“Well, if you’re feeling up for it, I was thinking we could leave the day after tomorrow. I’ll handle the packing, and Gladio and Iris will handle the cats; don’t worry.”

“I’m down.”

…

Ignis can practically feel Noctis’s energy elevate after his suggestion, steadily more now that there’s planning to be had. The gift of having something to look forward to was immense, and Ignis being the organizational genius that he is, he began packing for them both, as promised.

At his home, Ignis packs two large daggers within his suitcase’s secret compartment.

Without shame, Noctis does not call time off from work.

⚜

Something feels natural about riding in the car with Ignis. Is it the way the fuel-efficient car only hums lightly? Had this same car worn its cadence into him so long ago, to be awoken again on this trip, at this moment?

Yet, he still can’t remember. And it’s fine.

He tells himself it’s fine.

Because it _is_ fine. He repeatedly slips his hand over on top of the other man’s hand and is always met with a smile. That man already knows what kind of music he likes and has it on the radio. It’s cold, but not too cold, and the scenery of Outer Insomnia looks stoic and grand under a bright, gray sky. It feels like the world itself has welcomed and accepted them both.

One grand bridge is the only way in and out of the great Insomnian peninsula, and this part of the trip—one Noctis has not taken in ten years—gives him some sense of nostalgia. Gliding over clear waters, he feels something between hope and love building in his chest.

Things _can_ change.

People are _there_ for him.

They have barely driven beyond the walls of the old city, trading near-ancient bricks for solid ground, when something explodes nearby. Ignis keeps the car steady in its wake but cannot avoid the second blast.

After minutes of darkness, ears ringing, the world shaking, Ignis comes to and immediately seeks out Noctis. “Noc—Ater!” He struggles to unbuckle himself, trying not to panic. Noctis is not beside him; he must have been ejected from the car.

Freeing himself, he stumbles out and falls to the ground. It seems his leg has been injured. Crawling past the car’s smoking engine, dragging his bad leg, he sees Ardyn Izunia standing over Noctis, who is on his back, crawling backwards away from him. The towering man’s hands glow red, a crimson sword in his grasp exuding the same energy.

“My dear nephew,” the regent speaks, “it _wounds_ me that you’ve been _Iurking_ all these years and wouldn’t even come to say ‘hello’. Oh, what fun we could have had.”

“S-stay away from me,” Noctis says as he backs into a large rock.

“Worry not—your time is nigh.” Stepping in, Ardyn thrusts the sword into the ground beside him, laughing. Cackling. Toying with his prey.

“No!” Ignis attempts to stand but clutches his side in pain.

“Oh?” Ardyn stands, pulling his sword up with him. “Scientia. The thorn in my arse. Perhaps I can take care of _two_ problems today. Tragedy does seem to follow you.” He turns back to Noctis. “First things first. No hard feelings, boy—merely a debt your great, great, great, _great_ grandfather owes me.”

As Ardyn goes to strike again, a blast of fire knocks the sword from his hand. It flies into the stone after Noctis attempts to flee.

Crowe is standing just beyond, Libertus and Nyx close behind.

“Ah, I guess it’s true: old soldiers never die,” Ardyn says, holding up his hands, which glow more intensely as he grips his fists.

The Kingsglaive launch their assault on Ardyn, matched by his speed. Without the power for which Kingsglaive were once known—warp-striking with the aid of the king’s arsenal—they are significantly slower, yet they manage to keep Ardyn on his toes with daggers and cleavers long enough for Prompto to land a shot with his gun and Gladiolus to strike from behind.

“Prompto! Gladio!” Ignis shouts.

“Sorry for the delay!” Prompto says. “Someone must’ve tipped him off!”

Ardyn bears the brunt of Gladiolus’s broadsword, holding back with his red aura. The illusion of his weakening is broken when he force-pushes Gladiolus back and levitates back to his feet. “I suppose I should start taking this more seriously.”

Ardyn sends his tendrils of darkness out toward the Kingsglaive trio. Their bodies consumed momentarily, they tumble to the ground.

“No!” Prompto shouts.

Suddenly, Ardyn is right beside Prompto. “You remind me of someone I hated,” he says. “I should have disposed of you long ago.” He strikes Prompto in the kidneys, dropping him.

Gladiolus comes charging at Ardyn again. Ardyn takes his sword and, as Gladiolus swings, cleaves his broadsword in half. Ardyn savors his expression for a moment before punching Gladiolus in his solar plexus, putting him down as well.

Ardyn’s eyes begin to wander, searching the quiet battlefield for his target. “Now, where did our squirrely prince make off to?” His eyes land upon Ignis, finally standing there between him and Noctis. Noctis appears to be lying on the ground unconscious just behind Ignis.

“Well, well, well,” Ardyn begins, dragging the tip of his sword as he slowly approaches Ignis. “Where are your daggers? Don’t tell me you _packed_ them, you foolish thing.”

Ignis grits his teeth. He holds his ground despite his weakening state.

“You should accept your death like the gracious man you are. Or perhaps that was all for show? Clearly you’d kill to protect your own, as I would. What makes you so much more worthy?”

The spectacled man only growls in response.

“You know I could have given you anything, right? Why, if you’d even brought this blank slate to me in the beginning, I might even have been able to spare him. You two could live to old age in a forgotten cabin in Caem for all I care.” Ardyn stops in front of Ignis casually. “But that’s not your way, is it?”

Ignis answers coldly: “No.”

He whips a small knife from his pocket and plants it in Ardyn’s chest. Ardyn recoils—only a little.

“Ignis,” he spits, “you know that is _not_ where the heart is located.”

He strikes Ignis with his sword, knocking him to the ground with a burst of blood.

A sick, twisted pleasure paints Ardyn’s face as he towers above the writhing, bleeding man. “Not that it would have mattered, seeing as I have no heart.” He pulls the knife out of his chest and tosses it on top of him, then proceeds to kick him in his face several times. “But you know…” Kick. The lenses of Ignis’s glasses shatter. “I am not a cruel man at heart.” Kick. The glasses fracture. “I had love once, just like you.” Kick. The broken glasses scrape Ignis’s face. “I had everything.” _Kick._

Ignis, weak, looks up at Ardyn, who raises his middle finger. As his vision begins bleeding into darkness, he sees something familiar adorning it: the Ring of the Lucii, treasure of the royal family. “What… No…”

“Bet you wish you had this now, don’t you?” The look on Ardyn’s face sickens him. “When you’ve subjugated gods, the Kings hold little power over you. Not that they had much favor for your dearest prince. By the by, the Princess of Tenebrae is waiting for you lot. She’ll remember you as the royal brat and the weakling that failed to save him.”

“No…”

Ignis loses consciousness.

Ardyn sighs. “Less satisfying than if he were still conscious. Should’ve held back some.”

He raises his sword to perform the _coup-de-grasse_ , but before he can swing, something blue zips past his fingers. He finds himself without them as the weapon falls limply to the ground.

Turning around, he sees the prince surrounded by an aura of blue and an arsenal of blue weapons, eyes glowing, hair flowing.

“Ah.” Ardyn holds up his injured hand; the fingers grow back rapidly. “This is _much_ more interesting.” He is suddenly surrounded by myriad more weapons, all glowing red. “Welcome back.”

The air grows chilly, and the two royals shiver. Noctis is accompanied by a faerie goddess, descended from the clouds of grey, her many avatars surrounding her in the midst of snow flurries. The Astral Shiva.

“You sure you can handle this? Let’s turn up the heat.” Ardyn smiles, and the sky darkens before the scenery is again brightened by the fiery presence of a goatlike fire god. The Astral Ifrit.

Both summons bridge the gap between them, their energies already stirring the air.

Noctis breathes, voice trembling. “Let’s go.”

And he unleashes all hell upon Ardyn, their armigers keeping each other’s at bay as he strikes at Ardyn with the weapon his father had borne in his time. Noctis manages to guide the battle away from his fallen comrades. Shiva is nimble enough to avoid Ifrit’s wild and dynamic attacks, and gradually his attacks begin to slow as she puts him on ice.

The kings’ strikes on each other begin to take their toll. Ardyn, for once, feels the threat of failure creeping up upon his neck. “I’ve watched _your_ family squander away this country for far too long,” he sneers. “My malice is but retribution.”

“You’d really stop at nothing to destroy us,” Noctis says, “yet here I am.”

A critical strike sends Ardyn flying into the ground, Ifrit following him. The great, frozen body of Ifrit bursts into a million snowflakes atop him, and Ardyn lay smashed like a Meteor. Shiva ascends as the skies again lighten, leaving the vision of Noctis standing over Ardyn, just as he had his allies.

“It was _you_ , wasn’t it?” Noctis says, eyes dire. “Ever since you showed up one day… Daemons, my mother, my father, me… And Luna, too. It was all _your_ fault.”

“If they did to you what they’ve done to me, you would feel the same. Consider your pain, your isolation, ceasing to exist to the world—such was my own pain! Denied a throne that was rightfully mine, and for what? To see my own family _waste_ this kingdom!”

“Well, I didn’t godsdamn kill anyone.”

“Always taking the high road.”

“Consider this the end of your pain. I’ll close your eyes permanently. Then we can finally heal.”

Ardyn goes ahead and closes them. “It was a good shot.”

Thus Noctis brings an end to Ardyn’s life.

His head and hand are heavy, yet his concern for the fallen dissipates along with Ardyn’s body, which flits into ash in the wind.

Then he turns his attention back to Ignis. The others, already recovering, have begun to call for help, but Noctis runs straight to Ignis, throwing himself down beside him.

“Iggy! _Iggy!_ ”

Ignis is unresponsive, his face and body bloodied. Noctis shakes him as gently as he can.

“Iggy! Wake up, Iggy—it’s me!”

Ignis groans, half-opening a bruised-swollen eye. “A…Ater…”

“No, it’s me.” Noctis cups his face gingerly. “It’s your Noctis.”

“Noctis…”

“Stay with me; help is coming!”

Ignis fades again, going limp in Noctis’s arms.

“No—!” Noctis pulls Ignis’s face into his chest, voice breaking. “Iggy, don’t go! Iggy!” But Ignis’s heartbeat is gossamer and his breath practically gone. Overwhelmed, his memories of Ignis flooding back to him, Noctis sobs. _Just_ as he has him; _just_ as he holds him in his arms. “Ignis,” he cries, burying his face into Ignis’s shoulder. The others surround him with solemn looks, unable to even begin approaching the prince.

So many memories had come flooding back to him, and they continue to flow into his consciousness.

...

The day he and Ignis had met, their tiny hands clasping each other’s.

The days he had spent with his father—the King—rare as they were. Happy days. Rare days.

The times he had met his friends, and the things they had done together. He hadn’t felt like a prince; he’d felt like a _friend_.

Prompto helping him hide a stray kitten.

Gladiolus teaching him a secret handshake.

Becoming friends with Lunafreya during his convalescence.

The last time he saw her, at his father’s funeral.

Ignis, against all reason, sneaking him out of the Citadel to go to a street festival.

Ignis explaining to the King yet again why young Noctis had been out so late.

Ignis helping Noctis study in his new apartment.

Ignis growing ever closer in his own way. Gentle touches. Ice cream with his favorite toppings. Reminding him to take his medicine. Planning with him. Remembering him.

More than _duty_. More than _honor_.

Ignis bending the rules for him.

Ignis, bending the _world_ for him.

The moment he let go of Ignis’s arm.

...

The onlookers’ eyes fill with wonder.

Noctis himself does not see Ignis’s bloody wounds filling with blue light spilling through his body like the earth’s life force. He doesn’t see his tears shimmering down his face and flowing into Ignis’s body. He doesn’t see them both immersed in a kind, blue aura, growing slowly as he weeps into Ignis’s neck.

But a moment later, he does hear his voice. “Noct…”

Noctis’s eyes flash open, and he pulls back to look at Ignis. Many of his wounds have closed, and his bruises and cuts continue to recede, but his eyes are scarred, unseeing. Yet he smiles. With what strength he has, he is smiling.

He reaches up and touches Noctis’s cheek gently with a still-bloodied hand. “My Noctis…”

He passes out again, though not limply this time—almost as if falling into slumber. Noctis rises with him in his arms just as the ambulances breach the last gate out of Insomnia.


	11. Epilogue

Noctis’s coronation had been a day for the ages, with all the pomp, weight, and emotion one could have expected.

He’s just glad that it’s over with.

He and Ignis spend little time separated. It is not just that Noctis loves him, and that he has taken partial responsibility for Ignis’s injury in spite of what he’d said; Ignis improves his life simply by being around. Any stray can tell you the same: when you find someone like that, stick by them.

Noctis laughs as he dusts a cat shelf in Ignis’s bedroom. “You know, the _real_ upside of all this is I don’t have to go back to that shitty apartment.” Specky jumps onto it the moment he moves on to the next one.

“You know, I was just about to invite you to live with me.” Ignis smiles, reclining in his bed. “I know you like this place.”

“I really do. Maybe I should live _here_ all the time instead.”

“You’d forfeit a King-sized bed?”

“Hmm… You’re right.” Noctis looks like he’s had a bright idea. “Can we fit my bed into the guest bedroom?”

“You’ve got quite a lot of work to do, you know. There won’t be so much time for sleep anymore.”

Noctis snickers. “What work? So far, being king is far easier than monitoring six cutthroat eBay bidding wars simultaneously.”

“Wait until you see the _paperwork_.”

Noctis realizes he can no longer just ask Ignis to do the paperwork.

Noctis shudders.

Prompto chimes in, entering the room with more cleaning supplies. “What about your shitty job?”

“What about it?” Noctis says, casually sticking out his tongue.

“Gonna miss it? Never gonna think about it again? Gonna demolish the whole place and start over fresh?”

Noctis leans on the chair at Ignis’s small bedroom desk. “I’ll miss it a little.” A pause. “What am I saying? No I won’t. But Dino and Coctura were… _really something_.”

Ignis chortles. “Would you say we could use them on staff at the Citadel?”

“ _Absolutely not_.”

“Speaking of ‘Dino’,” Gladiolus says, entering the room with a magazine in hand, “keep yer eye on the tabloids and his name’s bound to come up.”

Prompto peeks over as Gladiolus hands the magazine to Noctis. The cover is a bad photo of Noctis, in his former hotel uniform, looking down at his phone. Bright, yellow text is plastered all around his image.

“‘ _Amnesiac Prince’s Elaborate Sex Affair_ ’?” Noctis scratches his head. “I…what?”

Gladiolus grins. “Check the subheading.”

“‘ _Torrid, Tantric Truant Ruler’s Rounds and Rounds of Sumptuous, Satisfying Sex’_? ‘ _Edited by Dino Ghiranze_.’ Okay. I… That’s fine.”

“Ya really came back in a big way,” Gladiolus snickers.

Noctis sighs, setting down his feather duster. “Yeah. Everyone’s got something to say. It’s kind of a lot.”

“All that matters,” says Prompto, sliding over to Noctis’s side, “is that you _and_ your memories are back with us, and I can finally show you _this_!” He whips out his phone, which appears to have a game running. “I finally beat your high score in King’s Knight!”

“Dude.” Noctis looks up from the phone, locking eyes with Prompto. “This app hasn’t updated in five years. You can’t even find it on the app store anymore. I looked.”

“So I guess I beat you _for good_! Ha!”

“I’ll just find something better to beat you at.”

“You wish!”

“Makin’ up for lost time, huh?” Gladiolus says.

Noctis nods. “Yeah.” He sits beside Ignis on the bed. “So much to do. So much to _be_.” He looks at Ignis, touching his shoulder. “And to think, all the time we could’ve had together.”

Gladiolus grabs Prompto’s arm and motions his head toward the doorway. “Oh, right,” Prompto responds, grabbing a couple of the supplies he’d brought with him and exiting with Gladiolus.

Noctis and Ignis lean on each other, enjoying a minute of quiet. Noctis is calmed by Ignis’s breathing.

After a moment of musing, Ignis puts an idea out there: “I do think we should still go on that vacation.”

“Do you think you can handle it right now?” Noctis has concern and eagerness in almost equal measure.

“Of course. With _you_ beside me.”

“Yeah. A vacation sounds real nice right about now.”

Ignis fidgets with his hands. “It would help to feel less… _broken_.”

“Do you think I’m broken?” Not spoken harshly, but inquisitively.

“Of course not.” Ignis is simply truthful.

“Then you’re no more broken than I am.”

He lets his lips hover near Ignis’s until Ignis finally presses them together.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> AO3 you've cursed me with lack of Prologue/Epilogue support 😂 I named these chapters at the last minute.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and supporting IgNoct ❤️
> 
> [Follow me on my (NSFW) Twitter](http://twitter.com/lil_peach_pit) if you'd like to keep up on my writing or art!


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